The Thorn Within
by Merrie
Summary: What happens when a skirtchaser like Dean is cursed to become an incubus? Will he be able to fight his nature or give in to the darkness he now holds within? And how will Sam deal with the consequences? First SPN fic. Updated 20 Jan 09
1. Prologue

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean has been cursed so subtly that no one, not even him, has noticed until the effects start adding up. Meanwhile, Sam's got his own problems. The strain of his visions is quickly becoming too much to bear for no apparent reason with no relief in sight. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. I'm writing for the "NaNoWriMo" site. If you don't know what this is, please ask! Its great fun and you've still time to join.

Also, this is a SECOND SEASON fic so if you haven't gotten that far, please be aware. I figure it takes place post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.' It will be AU beyond that point.

Also, also, this is unbetaed so please ignore any and all errors you might find. Thanks.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Prologue

Evil exists; don't let anyone tell you different. Dean Winchester had seen far too much in this life to believe otherwise. _I'm getting maudlin and I don't even have any alcohol_, he thought to himself as he dragged a hand across weary features and a two-day's growth of beard stubble. He wanted to blame his younger brother Sam for such a state of affairs but it simply wasn't worth the hassle. Dean could admit to himself that he had a tendency to think too much, too deep whenever he had a spare quiet moment to himself. It was part of the reason, besides the obvious, that he enjoyed filling the silences between hunts with blaring music. It was hard to think deep when you were singing along with a particularly awesome Zeppelin riff or Ozzie's drawled lyrics. But it was now, in the space between waking and sleeping when the silence couldn't be escaped and the thoughts would inevitably descend. Questions as to whether what they were doing was right or not had never troubled him outside of these damned moments. But it was more than that. It was _worse_ than that. It was now as he lay awake listening to his brother's soft breathing and staring at the ceiling of yet another shitty motel room that he struggled with the too-loud accusing voices in his head. _Dad's dead._ They'd say in their hissing accusatory growls. _Dad's dead and it's all your fault. You lived and you shouldn't. You're a freak; a monster. You don't deserve to live. You killed him. Just like you killed Layla. Just like you killed your mom._

Alright, now he was just being stupid. He mentally tried to erase Mary Winchester's name from the 'Killed by Dean Winchester' list in his head but once written it would never leave. _Damn it, I have to get out of here._ _Out of this room._ _Out of this crap town. Out of this life._ But he couldn't leave. He would be left time and time again by those he loved—this was an accepted fact that didn't trouble him as much as it once had—but he would never leave. Not really. Sure, he had driven off leaving Sammy on the side of the road in Burkittsville, but he hadn't ever planned to _stay_ gone. Not like Sammy had. Not like his father had.

He and Sam hadn't talked about what he had said after they had left the cemetery and they wouldn't. Not that Sam wouldn't try. He always _tried_, always had to push and push and push for just one more precious chick-flick moment from his emotionally stunted older brother, but it didn't matter. Dean was done talking. He wasn't dealing particularly well, he didn't know how the hell was he _supposed_ to, but he was dealing. He had been doing just fine despite Sam's claims to the contrary. But Sam couldn't accept _just fine._ His older brother had to be fucking _perfect…invincible. _Able to not only hunt and kill anything and everything that came his way without issue but emotionally open and more than willing to share whatever happened to be weighing on his soul that particular day. Not that anything weighed on his soul. He was fine and he was done thinking about it.

Except that he wasn't. The silence hadn't ended, dawn was slow in coming and he was still stuck with his own damn thoughts. For the briefest of minutes he was half-tempted to reach over to the other bed and wake Sam up just for someone to fill the silence with, but he wasn't a complete ass despite evidence to the contrary. Sam got little sleep lately as it was. They both did. And with Sam's near constant nightmares and visions only making matters worse, Dean would let his younger brother sleep while he was able. Dean only wished he had the same luxury. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in…he didn't want to think about how long it had been. If Sam noticed he hadn't said anything. He simply tried to be subtle by offering to drive more often than he ever had in the past. Dean wouldn't let him. Not until he was so dead behind the wheel that he risked hurting his baby would he admit defeat and hand the keys over to Sam. Getting up out of bed right now would also be admitting defeat, admitting that he wasn't going to get any sleep so there was no point in trying. He wouldn't do it. Well, not usually. He could sometimes rationalise away his retreat to himself by booting up the laptop and researching whatever beastie they were hunting. But not tonight. They had no cases. They hadn't had a real case in weeks. Not since…well he didn't want to think about that either. Ellen had given them the clown case and they had stumbled upon the zombie hunt on Sam's irrational quest to see their mother's grave. Something else Dean didn't want to think about. Even the brief glance he'd had of it when they were leaving had been more than he'd ever wanted.

He pushed the sheets down off of his chest and sighed loudly, raising his watch to his face and illuminating the tiny numbers. _3:42_ _am. Great._ Last call was through, the girls had all gone home safe to their beds and dawn was still hours away. He was about ready to smother Sam's face with a pillow just for the sheer lack of anything else to do. Forget letting him catch up on his sleep. Forget feeling sorry for him. The only thing worse than not being able to sleep was having to watch and listen to someone not at all troubled by the same problem. He had to get out of here. He had to get far, far away from the silence and his own thoughts. He needed the peace of noise and other people to regain his control again.

Sitting up in bed, he let the sheets pool to his lap, exposing the bare skin of his chest and shoulders to life outside the warm cocoon of the sheets. It didn't matter. He rationalised to himself that he wasn't really giving up on trying to get any sleep per se, but looking for something to accomplish during the time was usually wasted sleeping. It sounded like a steaming pile of bs even within his own mind but his bare feet were on the ratty carpet propelling him further and further away from Morpheus' distant and uncaring embrace. He padded into the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind him out of habit. Sammy might be deep in dream land and not about to come in behind him not knowing, but when you spent nearly all of the hours in the day with someone, a younger brother especially, in tight confines, things like locking doors on bathrooms became a highly prized commodity; a necessity even. To place such emphasis on something as seemingly trivial as well, bathroom time may have seemed stupid to some people, but those people simply didn't know what it was like to spend a life on the road.

He scowled at the harsh fluorescent light above the single small mirror hanging precariously over the small sink and fleetingly wished he had night-vision eyes so he wouldn't need it. Such off-the-wall comments were hardly odd in their line of work in dealing with the supernatural day in and day out, and they were especially common at this time of night. He and Sam used to play a little game unofficially titled "superhunters" when they were children. The object was an often heated discussion about which of the things they hunted's powers they wanted for themselves. They both wanted to be able to fly of course, not knowing anyone who could possibly think otherwise, but while Sam had always leaned toward the fantastical, such as telekinesis, Dean had wanted such practical powers that would serve him in hunting such as night-vision and the ability to heal from virtually any wound suffered. Did it piss him off that Sam seemed to have gotten his wished-for power after all? Maybe a little when he was afflicted with a larger than normal dosage of older brother selfishness, but that quickly faded when he once more witnessed just what Sammy had to go through to get such a "gift." Crippling visions of murder and death for a few moments of highly unreliable telekinesis? It didn't sound like a good deal to Dean.

The water was cool on his face as he tried to wash the grit of insomnia away from his eyes. Sam had enough to worry about without picking up on the fact that his older brother wasn't sleeping. _Yeah, he won't be able to tell. Not at all… Yeah right._ He scowled at his reflection in the mirror, willing his bloodshot and raccoon-looking green eyes back to their normal state. Nothing doing. The fact that his already naturally pale complexion had paled to an approximation of rice paper wasn't helping matters either. Damn it. He just needed a shave and a steaming hot cup of caffeine and he'd be fine. Well, he wouldn't be fine but he'd be ready to go anyway. Not that they had anywhere to go. They had no job, no reason to leave this particularly uninteresting motel room in a long, long line of uninteresting motel rooms. But he couldn't stay either. It just wasn't in his nature. They, well Sammy had always been a bit of a freak even when they were kids, had been raised as wanderers, as nomads and that was what Dean did. He wandered, not staying too long in one place or the next for fear of…well, he didn't really know what he feared exactly, he just knew it wasn't right to stay in one place for too long. The questions inevitably arose; Who are you? Where are you from? What do you do? He had no answers for any of them, nor the desire to give them if he had.

Humming Metallica's 'Wherever I May Roam,' softly under his breath, he dried his face and wandered back into the main room to get dressed, thinking that a walk might relax him enough to sleep for at least a few hours. It was probably a foolish notion, but he couldn't sit still any longer. He pulled on his jeans and boots with the ease of practised silence and quickly scrawled a note on the motel stationary 'Rob's Roadside Inn' glaringly printed in bold letters across the top, informing Sam of his location should he wake and wonder. He then grabbed his wallet, cell and room key and left the room as silently as he had moved about within it.

_Bless 24 hour diners and cheap coffee, _Dean thought to himself with a happy sigh as he took a long gulp of the near scalding caffeinated goodness. It burned hot and sharp on the way down but he didn't care. The small diner was empty save a random sampling of insomniacs like Dean himself and the weary looking truck drivers vainly trying to fool their bodies into letting them drive just a few more hundred miles before sleep. Dean barely paid any attention to them in his seat at the counter, but that wasn't to say that he didn't notice them. He noticed everything. The day he stopped was the day whatever he was hunting got the drop on him. And Dean was determined to make it to at least 30 before that happened. Beyond that he figured anything was possible.

"Refill, hon?" the only waitress in the entire place asked softly, interrupting his thoughts. Dean looked up, meeting her eyes with a smile and a nod. She wasn't bad looking and they could likely pass the remaining hours until sunrise in pleasure if she was interested, but he didn't press the issue. He simply smiled and let that work for him.

The waitress, the nametag on her uniform read Anne, looked momentarily taken back as if not recognising the smile for what it was at this time of night. Dean couldn't blame her. Between working the graveyard shift and having to deal with the insomniac dregs of society all night, she had probably been simply going through the motions. Such a glimpse of humanity was unexpected. "You don't strike me as one of them," she gestured with her chin toward a group of what were obviously truckers."

Dean took up the halfhearted attempts at conversation, appreciating the noise. "Couldn't sleep," he said with another grin, a crooked wry one this time and a sip of his fresh coffee.

"Which explains the coffee," Anne the waitress said with a quirk of her lips and a delicately raised eyebrow. Dean decided he liked her eyebrows. They were graceful arches leading up to a smooth forehead despite how tired she must have been at this hour of night.

Dean raised his mug in salute and chanced a wink in her direction. "I simply decided that I wasn't going to wait for the sun to start my day this morning."

"Oh really?" Anne asked, slowly remembering how conversations were supposed to work.

"Really," Dean answered with a straight face. "I'm setting my own hours now."

"Is that right?" Anne continued, placing her now free hands on her hips in a clearly disbelieving manner. "So you've just _decided_ to be up and awake at 4 in the morning despite all signs indicating otherwise?" He might have been cute with a little more colour to his skin and a few less rings around his dull green eyes.

"Seems like," Dean said after a moment's hesitation, smiling at the lie.

Anne huffed and moved briefly away to help another sleepy-eyed customer before returning. "So what's keeping you up, soldier?" She frowned as Dean unconsciously tensed at the title.

"What makes you think I'm a soldier?" he asked warily, his coffee growing cold and forgotten on the counter in front of him.

She seemed taken aback at the question but to her credit leaned back slightly from him to formulate an answer. "Your…what do they call it? Bearing? Yeah, bearing. I can tell you're exhausted and yet you're sitting up straight in that chair."

"Maybe I just have good posture," Dean muttered, uncomfortable with her stare. He refrained from being petty and forcing himself to slouch in the chair just to call her bluff.

She was slowly shaking her head back and forth before she spoke. "No, it's more than that. It's the way you took a seat at this part of the counter where you could see the door rather than sit with your back to it." She frowned and her eyes darted quickly to the door and back again. "You're not…running from something are you?"

He held up a hand to stop her from thinking the worst. "Just sleep and an annoying younger brother."

She nodded as if that explained everything. "I didn't mean to offend you by the soldier remark. It's just been a long night and you're the first person to talk in something other than a come on or a grunt. If you want to be left alone, that's fine." She tucked a stray curl of her bright red hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

Not only did Dean now feel like an ass for making her feel nervous, but he didn't want to lose the easy conversation they had been sharing. He hadn't been thinking about his…father at all since his coffee had been refilled. He didn't want to lose that peace, no matter how fleeting it might ultimately be. "Look I'm sorry. You didn't offend me. Not at all. You're almost right. I'm not in the military but I grew up in a military family. Marines. I guess it shows."

"Oh. Your dad or mom?" Anne asked, willing to take up the gentle thread of conversation again if he was.

"My uh, dad," Dean said thickly. And because the lack of sleep can do strange things to the brain, he went on. "He passed recently. They think it was a stroke."

"I'm sorry," she said softly, the pity at once clear and obvious on her face. Dean offered her a weak smile.

"It's alright. I'm fine." The words were practically automatic by now.

She didn't look like she was buying it, but mercifully she didn't press. "Tell me about your brother."

"Sammy?" A real smile made its way to his lips despite the pain of the previous subject. "He's a pain in my ass. Always has been. Smart though. He's always figuring out things before everyone else. I worry about him, but he'll be alright. He's strong."

"You should smile more often. It suits you and it's good for the soul," she said with a smile of her own.

Dean stuck out a hand over the counter. "I'm rude and I know it. I'm also Dean," he offered, realising that up until now he'd shared everything with her except his actual name.

"I'm Anne if you couldn't tell by the nametag," she responded wryly, taking his offered hand and shaking it firmly.

"I might have glanced at it for a second or two," he said as he reclaimed his hand. She laughed. "So Anne, besides working third shift at a diner, tell me your hopes and dreams. And make it quick before the caffeine runs out and I fall asleep mid sentence." She laughed again and Dean decided he loved the sound.

"Well _Dean_, now that you're not a total stranger I guess I've no choice but to comply. I'm a 4th year over at the University of Colorado studying to be a mechanical engineer." Dean's eyebrows quirked minutely at that and she smiled and elaborated, "My father was one and I guess I've always wanted to be one too. Ever since I was young. I work at this utterly charming establishment to pay the bills. I have an older brother James and two younger brothers, Ryan and Eric. Both of my parents are sill living—still _married_—in fact so I guess I consider myself lucky on both counts. As for my hopes…well I'm _hoping_ that when I get off work in 15 minutes we can continue this conversation somewhere that doesn't smell like grease and unwashed men." The smile she sent his way at this point was by no means innocent, yet contained a measure of shyness all the same. Dean had to admit, he was charmed.

"You're coming-on to _me_?" he asked with a smirk, leaning over folded hands on the counter with the question. "While this isn't quite a first, it just doesn't generally go down this way."

"Oh I'm sorry. Would you like to start over? I can pretend you're a total stranger again and you can ask me to come home with you. Don't forget to through in such classic endearments as 'sweetheart,' 'honey,' or even my personal favourite, 'babe.'"

Dean pretended to consider it and let out a mock sigh. "What's done is done. It can't be changed now. Well then yes, Anne the budding mechanical engineer. I would love to come home with you. As long as you call me sweetheart."

She laughed again and he couldn't help but laugh with her, his troubles momentarily forgotten with the prospect of a woman's company. Call him a womanizing bastard or a skirt chaser, he wouldn't mind. Hell, he'd even agree. But he didn't care. He was tired of caring and it had been far, far too long since he'd done something spontaneous; something for himself.

Once more, to her credit, Anne didn't comment on the emotions clear as day on Dean's face. He was so tired of holding everything back but gathered himself just a little bit closer at the slight downturn of her lips. He didn't want her pity but he supposed he'd take a sympathy fuck if that's what she was really offering. Anything to take his mind off of his life for awhile. And if she turned out to be some kind of black widow who lured unsuspecting men back to her lair for a little seduction and slaughter, all the better. Fighting or fucking, he could go either way at the moment.

Dean watched her move about behind counter, removing her apron and smoothing the wrinkles from her white uniform dress. Dean's eyes moved over her figure and he liked what he saw. Her breasts were full and heavy and her hips were deliciously curved. She probably considered herself slightly overweight—he hadn't met a women yet that didn't think she could afford to lose some weight—but if Dean was being particular, he'd claim he liked curves on a woman. "You ready to go, sweetheart?" Anne drawled, coming up beside him at the counter while he moved off of the stool.

"Lead the way, babe," he returned, tit-for-tat, offering the crook a leather-encased arm for her to take. She did so readily, well used to this part of the evening. She wasn't looking for anything more than a few hours with a near total stranger to unwind from a long night's work, and that was more than fine with Dean.

The sex wasn't spectacular but it wasn't bad either. Dean supposed he wasn't all that surprised, really. Two exhausted souls desperately seeking each other's company didn't leave a whole lot of room for foreplay and romance. But the sex had served its purpose; for the both of them. Dean Winchester never left a woman unsatisfied, even when the sex was all but meaningless. _Especially_ when the sex was meaningless. Just because he was using her for a few hour's peace didn't mean he'd leave her feeling _used_. He wasn't a complete bastard. No, he'd left young Anne the prospective mechanical engineer and part-time waitress content and sleepy within her bed, smiling up at him as he pulled on his hastily discarded clothing.

Dawn was creeping over the edges of night now, slowly revealing yet another sunrise after yet another night of no sleep, but oddly enough, he felt great. Spectacular even, despite the less-than-spectacular sex. His eyes and mind were clear, his step was sure and confident; he felt like a million bucks. God Almighty, he was even _whistling_! Dean chuckled at his own foolishness and stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets as he made his way back to the motel were Sam likely still slept. He could have called for a cab, he had the money for once, but he was practically bursting with energy and needed to walk as much of it off as he could before Sam woke up otherwise the accusations of drug-taking would start flying every which way. He just needed to get laid. That's all there was to it. He hadn't been with a woman since…longer than he cared to admit. _God love the fairer sex_, he silently praised. All it took was the attentions of a good woman to push him past 100 again. The guilt, the grief, it didn't matter now. Not in the light of a new dawn.

Gently jiggling the stubborn motel room lock and forcing himself not to whistle in case Sam was still asleep, he entered the motel room as stealthily as he had excited, only to be caught this time. "Ah. Morning, Sammy. How'd you sleep?" Dean asked casually, dropping his keys and jacket on a nearby chair as he moved into the room. His brother's dark hair was still mussed rather than forced into the shaggy mom he normally kept it in, which told Dean that his younger brother must not have been up long.

"Did you turn your phone off?" The question was blunt and shot pointblank. Something in Sam's eyes softened the harshness of his words though and Dean couldn't quite pinpoint it.

Had he? Dean pulled the object in question out of his jacket where he had left it and flipped it open. "Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry dude. It's on now. Why?" His little brother cursed softly and shifted on bare feet as if he had just been asked to take a large bite out of a steaming shit sandwich. "Sammy?"

"I uh, got a call for you," Sam started, seeming to square himself for whatever he had to say. It was beginning to worry Dean. "That's what woke me up. I guess they tried you first but couldn't get an answer. Damn it, Dean."

"What? What's wrong? Who was it?" Dean was definitely nervous now. "Is it the demon? Is it back?"

Sam held up a hand. "No, no it's not the demon. It's uh, fuck. It's Cassie, Dean." The words came out in a whoosh of air, as if Sam were in a rush to get them out of his mouth.

"Cassie?" Dean asked with a confused frown. "_My_ Cassie?" Sam nodded, seemingly lost for words. "You're scaring me man, cut it out. What did she say? Is the spirit back?" Sam still didn't answer. "Stop pretending to be a damn mute and answer the question!"

Sam took a breath and wished he knew a better way of doing this but he knew his brother. Bad news was best delivered in the fastest most direct way possible, akin to ripping off a Band-Aid from a bloody wound in one sharp motion, but this…this was worse than bad news.

"Dude, if you don't open your mouth and answer my question I swear—"

"She's dead, Dean," Sam said softly. "It was Cassie's mom on the phone. The funeral's tomrrow afternoon."

"That's not funny, dude," Dean said evenly, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared Sam down.

"She was sick, Dean. Apparently she's been sick for a long time. Dean—"

"No. No I don't believe it," Dean denied, shaking his head back and forth as he began to pace the length of the small room. "She would have called me. She would have told me she was sick. She wouldn't just _die_. Someone's lying to us Sammy. Cassie's not dead. She can't be. She just can't."

TBC

A/N: Yes, I'm evil. I am well aware of this and yet completely unrepentant. If you made it this far, please do be kind and drop a review. The next chapter should be up in a day or two. Until then, thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean has been cursed so subtly that no one, not even him, has noticed until the effects start adding up. Meanwhile, Sam's got his own problems. The strain of his visions is quickly becoming too much to bear for no apparent reason with no relief in sight. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thanks so much to those of you who already have! You're the best. Also, this is horribly unbetaed, so please keep that in mind.

Also, this is AU beyond 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.'

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter One

Sam didn't know what to do and he hated it. He hated not having the answers to the obvious questions within his older brother's eyes. Irrationally, he was pissed at Dean for not answering his own goddamn phone and forcing him to be the bearer of bad news and he knew it. Of course, knowing that he was being irrational and stopping himself were two entirely different things. "_Is this Sam? Sam Winchester? This is Mrs. Robinson, Cassie's mother. I tried to reach your brother Dean but I couldn't get ahold of him. I thought he should know. Cassie…Cassie's dead."_ Save a monotone and highly inadequate explanation of how and when she died, that was all Sam got and that was all he had to tell Dean. Dean, who was already not dealing with their Dad's death got to find out that the only girl he seemed to care for aside from their mother was dead now too. Their life sucked hard sometimes.

"Dean, I'm just telling you what she told me, ok? I don't know if it's true or not. I don't know what the hell is happening. What I _do_ know that if we're going back to Cape Girardeau," _for the funeral_, "then we'd better leave soon."

"It's only 1000 miles," Dean said distantly, the number while accurate, seemingly pulled out of nowhere. "Not even." He walked back over to grab his coat once more and quickly dialed what Sam assumed to be Mrs. Robinson's number on his cell phone. When he muttered, "Come on Cassie, pick up your damn phone," under his breath, Sam's face fell. He couldn't really blame Dean for the abject denial though. If he had heard about…Jess's death over the phone rather than seeing it for himself firsthand, he'd probably be doing exactly what Dean was doing right now.

He didn't want to think about what would happen when the rug of denial and stubborn hope was yanked out from under Dean's feet. He wanted to send that irrational blame in Cassie's direction now. Her timing for well, dying couldn't have possibly been any worse. While Dean had _finally_ opened up about how he was feeling about their dad's death after leaving their mom's grave it was clear he still wasn't dealing with it. Sam hadn't pressed. Dean's blatant questioning of what he could possibly say to make the guilt he felt over their dad's death go away had remained unanswered. He had said however that he didn't blame Dean for their dad's death. Not even a little bit. If he hadn't, the selfless jerk might have gotten it into his thick head to feel otherwise and Sam didn't want that. And now with Cassie's death—Sam couldn't hold onto Dean's denial, he had heard the loss in Mrs. Robinson's voice—he didn't know what Dean was likely to do and that scared him more than anything. This could, and _would_ tear Dean apart if he let it. Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

"We'll go to Cape Girardeau, Dean. We'll find out what happened first hand, alright? Just pack you're stuff and we can go," Sam offered carefully once Dean had thrown down his phone in disgust. "It's only 1000 miles, like you said. We'll get there in no time." Dean didn't answer with words, but the glare he sent in his younger brother's direction said enough to get under Sam's skin. "I'm just trying to be helpful," Sam muttered under his breath. He loved his brother, he really did, but getting him to accept concern once it was given was like hiking uphill with a two-ton boulder chained to your ankle.

Dean sighed as Sam turned the guilt on him and smoothed a hand back through his hair in a put-upon gesture and Sam knew his brother was folding. "Start packing. We'll get breakfast on the road," Dean grunted, already pulling clothes out of drawers and gathering up toiletries. Sam figured he'd better put on some clothes first before actually packing, so he pulled out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that he figured were clean enough for one more day's usage until they were able to hit a Laundromat. He didn't know what to say to Dean that the older man wouldn't find trite and patronizing, so he chose to say nothing at all.

WWW

Dean was driving as usual, not wanting anyone else to touch his precious car if he didn't have to. Even after all the time Sam had spent with him lately, Sam could still count the number of times he'd be been asked or even _allowed_ to drive on two hands. But Sam wasn't about to complain about it now. He knew that if he even tried he'd be shot done just as quickly and efficiently as Dean shot down target sheets. Dean needed to be in control of their journey to find the truth out about Cassie while the rest of his world spun out of control. Sam understood that. He even accepted it. But that didn't mean he didn't worry. Especially as Dean hadn't been getting any sleep over the last few nights. Dean tried to play it subtle and close to the vest like he played everything else, but Sam wasn't an idiot and you couldn't live within such close contact with another person and not notice when they weren't sleeping.

Sam sent a hopefully surreptitious glance in his brother's direction to judge the state of his health and mind. To Sam's surprise however, aside from the obvious strain of worry and denial in his furrowed brow, Dean seemed fine. Better than fine, actually. Sam could have sworn his brother had been drawn and pale yesterday due to what had to be lack of sleep, but looking at him now… "Did you get any sleep last night, Dean? And don't lie to me. I know you were up at 4. I heard you leaving."

If Dean was surprised he'd been caught, he didn't show it. "I'm fine to drive if that's what you're asking."

Now Sam knew that. Dean would have handed over the keys if he thought he was endangering his car by not being able to stay awake on the road. But that hadn't been what he was asking. "That's not what I asked and you know it."

"Sammy I'm fine—"

"Don't give me that crap. It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp," Sam directed at him, intentionally echoing the same accusation Dean had levelled towards him when he hadn't been sleeping.

Dean scowled in irritation at having his own words turned back at him. "I didn't sleep last night," he admitted stubbornly, "but I'm not tired now. I'm fine."

The problem was, Sam couldn't really call him on it. Even after Dean's admittance that he hadn't slept last night Sam couldn't find anything in his brother's appearance or reactions to pick on. His eyes were clear, the color was back in his cheeks and the dark circles that had been under his eyes seemed to have mysteriously vanished. If Sam didn't know better, he'd swear Dean had just woken up from 24 straight hours of sleeping.

"Your eyes are stuck," Dean grumbled, not looking over at him.

Sam looked away guilty. "Sorry. You just don't look tired," he said lamely.

This time Dean _did_ turn to look at him, a single eyebrow quirked in question. "Dude, if I don't look tired then what are you staring for?"

Sam's brow furrowed and he shifted in the black leather of the bench seat. "Because you _did_ look tired yesterday and you didn't get any sleep last night. So why do you look like you've slept for a week?" If they were from a normal family, if they didn't hunt nightmares for a living, such a question would never be posed. He would just take his brother at his word that he was fine and leave it at that. But, and it still pained him to admit it, they _weren't_ normal and he didn't know if they ever really would be. So mysterious cures to the effects of insomnia had to be questioned.

Dean's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror once before returning to the road. "It's nothing."

Sam's eyes rolled in pure reflex to Dean's usual bs. "Where did you go this morning?" He assumed that that had been the only time Dean had left. He'd noticed that whenever he'd been awake to witness his brother's sleeplessness, Dean wouldn't get out of bed unless he had something better to do. He'd fight consciousness for hours, not giving in to the fact that he couldn't sleep until he couldn't just lay there anymore.

"I spent the hours with a lovely young redhead named Anne who's studying to be a mechanical engineer at the University of Colorado," Dean answered dully, without his usual bragging when it came to his sexual conquests and Sam felt like shit for asking. Not only might the one girl he really cared about be dead, but he'd been with a total stranger right before getting the news.

"And that's it?" Sam pressed, not really buying it. He didn't want to and knew he probably shouldn't push Dean right now but damn it, he was worried. Seeing his brother's hands tighten on the wheel until his knuckles turned white, Sam knew he had probably pushed too far, too fast. Dealing with Dean was like walking a tightrope above a volcano; your steps had to be careful and confident, but you had to keep pushing on otherwise you'd never get to the other side. Make one wrong move in either direction and you were toast. "Nevermind. You're fine. I get it. The love of a good woman to cure what ails you. Forget I said anything," Sam murmured, hopefully circumventing Dean's oncoming rant.

Dean didn't say another word. He just kept driving.

WWW

Knowing you're in a dream and being able to wake up from that dream are two entirely different things. Sam _knew_ he was dreaming but try as he might, he couldn't wake himself up. And those who claimed that once you were aware of the fact that you were dreaming you could control said dream; utterly full of crap. Sam was locked in to neverland and it was a one-way ticket.

_There's probably a reason I can't wake up. _The thought drifted across the realm of his consciousness. _This is probably a vision._ The knowledge brought no comfort. Sam was of the opinion that he'd rather be trapped in a god-awful nightmare than experience another one of his oh-so-disturbing and horrifying visions. At least with his nightmares the people who died in them didn't _stay_ dead. At least the terrible things he saw pass before his eyes weren't actually really _happening_ to someone out in the world.

Sam had always half prayed, half hoped that if he _was_ going to be cursed with these visions—for they were anything but a gift in his mind—then the least whoever was sending them could do was to strip away the mystery and vague information and show him straight up who it was he had to save, where they were going to be, when and how they would need help, things of that nature. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times.

The first thing he became aware of was darkness. The kind of vivid, thick, all-consuming darkness that would eagerly swallow up your soul and the world before coming back for seconds. It crept in on the edges of the vision as if trying to warn Sam of some darker secret that he simply wasn't seeing. A woman's voice echoed through the black, laughing and speaking of trivial things that Sam's mind glossed over. The words were unimportant; it was her actions that held meaning. The vision shifted sideways and suddenly the woman was lying on a bed—perhaps hers, perhaps not—with a blurred figure over top of her. Sam didn't want to look too closely as the woman moaned passionately, clearly _in flagrante delicto_ with whomever she was with, but there had to be a reason he was having this vision other than the sender wanted to turn him into a pervert or a voyeur.

Time mercifully sped up at this point, as if the vision itself somehow sensed his unease at being made to watch its contents. Just when Sam was beginning to wonder what the hell the point of all this was, the woman through her head back and let out a bloodcurdling scream; loud and shrill enough that no one within earshot could ever mistake it for a moan of pleasure. Sam watched in abject horror as the woman's eyes bulged in terror as she fought to get away from a dark assailant. Sam strained to get a better look at who she was fighting off—he didn't think it was her partner from before but there was proof of this—before his attention was swiftly and decisively yanked back to the anonymous woman. Her screams became frantic as bloodied scratches began to appear across her naked flesh, parting skin and sinew alike with the deadly ease of a shark moving through water. Her struggles were becoming weaker and weaker as she moaned pathetically for whoever was hurting her to stop, to let her go, to leave her alone. Her pleas fell upon deaf ears.

Agonizing moments later, the woman's glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling; tears still intermixed with blood on her cheeks. Her body was a bloody ruin but that's not what had Sam's consciousness balking at what he was seeing. Even as he watched, the woman's body began to…dry up, for lack of a better turn. It was as if now in death the decomposition process was turned up to warp speed. The brunette—Sam was tying to take in as many details about her as he could before she was unrecognisable—went from lush, passionate and alive to horribly murdered to mummification in seconds. Worse still, the monster that had killed her seemed to be enjoying watching her skin and bones turn to dust, leaving the vague imprint of what had once been a human on sex-rumpled sheets. Once she was nothing more than ash, the murderer turned _directly_ to Sam and addressed him.

"Sammy?" the thing asked in a terrifyingly concerned voice, something in it's voice making his blood turn cold in his veins. The thing called his name once more before Sam realised what was so horribly, incredibly wrong; it was Dean's voice. It couldn't be. No, not Dean. Dean would never—

"Sammy! Wake the hell up!" Dean's voice, actual and real flew like a missile straight through Sam's brain, never erring on its intended target. Sam's eyes shot open and his hands flailed to fend off his attacker, blindly striking out at the monster with all his might. He was met with curses and a strong pair of hands around his wrists before the remnants of the vision cleared and he became aware of his surroundings once more. "Are you with me, little brother or are you going to hit me again?" Dean's voice drawled from the seat behind him. Sam turned and blinked a few times, not yet able to speak through the terror and blinding headache a vision summarily left in its wake.

"Dean?" The voice sounded weak and pathetic in his own ears so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean, is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" Dean scoffed, letting go of Sam's wrists but not turning away from him. Sam caught him rubbing his jaw idly and immediately flushed with guilt and shame.

"Did I hit you?" he asked, wincing in sympathy.

"You got lucky, that's all," Dean muttered with a wave of his hand. He pointedly stopped rubbing at his quickly reddening jaw and looked his littler brother in the eye. "What was it about?"

Sam shifted uneasily in his seat, idly looking out the windows and seeing that they were stopped along side of the road…somewhere. "Where are we?" he tried.

"I-70. You didn't answer my question," Dean said firmly.

Sam thought about asking Dean to clarify his answer further, I-70 was a hell of a long stretch of highway, but the look in his brother's eyes told him not to push it. "It was a vision," he muttered, trying not to sound as mulish as he felt.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I figured that part out, genius. What was it about?" The unanswered question was clear in the clench of his likely aching jaw; _do I have to turn around and forget about Cassie?_

"A woman. Someone…or some_thing_ killed her," Sam's voice was as clipped and clinical as he could make it. The images of her murder were still all too clear behind his eyes.

"Did you see what it was?"

Sam shook his head, wincing as the motion aggravated his post-vision migraine. Dean reached over him, opened the glove compartment, and tossed a bottle of aspirin on his lap. Sam gratefully accepted the relief and reprieve, dry-swallowing a few pills before elaborating. "The way it killed her, Dean…it was like nothing I'd ever seen before. It tore her up pretty good, with claws I think, but it was after she was already dead when things got…weird."

"Define weird," Dean pushed.

"Her body, it was like all the moisture or something was sucked out of it. She dried up to dust in seconds; instant mummification. Have you ever heard of anything that could do that?"

"No," Dean admitted, "but that doesn't mean anything. Everything can be killed one way or another. You just have to keep trying until you manage it. Did you see where it would happen? Or when?"

"No…" Sam murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. If anything, his headache seemed to be getting worse and worse instead of better as the seconds ticked by. "I didn't see anything but her murder… I think she was a doctor or a nurse though. She had a badge on the nightstand. I couldn't make out her name, but it had a caduceus at the top…" His voice sounded like it was wavering as he was speaking, but it was hard to care about such things when it felt as if his head were slowly imploding. Sam was about to continue when he felt something hot and salty dribble down past his lips. His tongue instinctively darted out of his mouth to check and his brow knitted in confusion as he recognized the taste immediately. He pressed a hand to his nose and had his suspicions confirmed by the sight of his fingers coming away crimson. Dean would be so pissed at him if he got blood on the seats…

WWW

When Sam opened his eyes again he noticed two things; one was that his head didn't hurt any longer, and the second was that he was no longer in the Impala but rather lying down on top of scratchy sheets. Sitting up on the bed, he frowned when a damp washcloth fell from his forehead and landed on his lap. Clearly someone—likely Dean—had put it there at some point between the car and the apparent cheap motel room he was in, but when Sam tried to remember all he could draw were blanks. Before Sam could contemplate the state of things further, Dean's looming presence filled his vision and Sam felt himself being shaken.

"If you _ever_ do that to me again I swear I'll kill you myself!" Dean yelled at him, his features tight with worry.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to bleed in the car. I'll clean it."

"Screw the car!" Dean breathed, causing Sam to frown in worry now. Since when did Dean talk about his baby that way? But Dean was speaking again before Sam could ask him. "First you have a vision, then get a goddamned bloody nose and pass out! What the hell was that, Sam? I couldn't fucking wake you up! I had to carry your heavy ass all the way in here by myself and if you don't tell me why so help me…"

"I don't—I don't know what happened," Sam said with a frown. "The last thing I remember was my nose bleeding and then…" he shrugged, not knowing what else to do.

Dean looked as if he wanted to strangle him. "I was _this_ close to dragging your sorry ass into emergency and leaving you there!" Dean fumed. "I still might!"

"Dean, I'm fine. Really. Just a little headache—"

"You seem to misunderstand what I'm telling you, Sammy," Dean said in even tones, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I _couldn't wake you up._ Do you get it now? You could have been in a coma for all I know! After Dad I can't—" He cut himself off and angrily got up from his seat on the side of the bed to pace the room as his rant continued. "So don't give me some bs on how you're _fine._"

_No, that's your job, Dean,_ Sam thought bitterly, stifling under his brother's accusations even though the more rational side of his brain argued that they were justified. "Other than a little headache I really am alright, Dean," he spoke softly, trying to soothe his brother's ire. "I guess the vision took more out of me than I thought it did." This was answered with a snort as Dean kept his pacing. "Dude, you're making me dizzy. Please stop," Sam pleaded, trying not to follow his brother across the room with his eyes back and forth and back and forth again. He hadn't been lying about feeling dizzy. Dean did stop and reclaimed his seat on the bed next to him, but he was clearly still fighting the urge to fidget. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean. You're not going to lose me," Sam stated seriously, knowing his brother's fears.

"Whatever," Dean muttered, rising to his feet again. "If you're sure then come on. We're still a few hours out of Cape Girardeau."

Sam frowned and checked his wristwatch. His eyes widened slightly to find that about 7 hours had passed since they had hit the road in Bolder. Given the distance to Missouri and the fact that Dean had said they were almost there, he must have been driving like a madman. "Come on? But what about the motel room?" Sam didn't really expect them to stop, not when they were so close, but the blatant waste of money for a motel room when they were already short as it was seemed out of character for his older brother. Then again, maybe he really had been that worried.

"I'm paying by the hour and this hour's up. Now come on."

"You're paying by the hour?" Sam lifted himself quickly off of the bed and glanced around, knowing just what of motel rooms charged by the hour. It was then he noticed that there was only a single bed in the room. "Dude, that's disgusting. What did you tell the desk clerk?"

"That we were devoted lovers looking for a few hours' worth of steamy sex before hitting the road," Dean drawled, smirking as he motioned Sam to hurry the hell up.

"That is so not cool," Sam complained. "Wait, I was unconscious! How the hell did you explain that?"

"He didn't ask, and I didn't tell," was Dean's blithe response as they made their way back to the car.

Sam just shook his head and wished he hadn't asked.

TBC

A/N: Yes, I'm still evil. I know. Poor Sammy, I beat him up this chapter. Not all is well with him despite claims to the contrary. More on that and answers to Cassie's supposed demise in the next chapter. Until then, please review. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 2

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either the demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also with, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Also, also with, this is horribly unbetaed. Sorry, but writing 50,000 words in one month doesn't leave a lot of time for editing...

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Two

If Mrs. Robinson was surprised to see them so soon after calling—Dean had travelled 14 hours worth of driving in a mere 9—she made no mention of it. She merely opened the door a little wider and allowed them inside, the expression on her face worn and tired.

"Mrs. Robinson, I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything—" Sam's humble platitudes were cut short by Dean's angry yell.

"Where is she? Where's Cassie?" he demanded, shoving passed the older woman and frantically searching the room.

Mrs. Robinson's eyes widened comically as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Sam's surely must have done the same. "What did you say?" she asked in a disbelieving whisper, as if too shocked to speak the words aloud.

"What have you done with her?" Dean breathed through clenched teeth, moving close enough to the shocked woman to invade her personal space. "And don't feed me some line about how she's _dead_. She's not dead. She can't be. So tell me where she is!"

"Dean! What the hell are you doing?" Sam shouted, coming to stand at his brother's side. In the long drive to Missouri never had he _once_ considered Dean doing something like this. He knew dealing with Cassie's death wouldn't be easy, but his abject rage and denial was beyond the pale. "Leave her alone!"

"Not until she tells me where Cassie is," Dean hissed coldly, his eyes never leaving Mrs. Robinson's.

"She's dead," Mrs. Robinson answers in a distant voice, her eyes still wide with shock and disbelief at what was happening. "She's dead, you son of a bitch! My daughter's dead! She's dead!" Her hands were pounding Dean's chest now, fighting him, fighting her grief and Sam was quick to grab ahold of Dean's dominant arm with his good hand, not knowing what how his brother would react and hating that. "Stop lying!" Dean roared, and Sam had to grab on tight as Dean fought to get away. "She would have told me! She would have told me," his voice cracked on the repeat as he looked into Mrs. Robinson's eyes and saw the truth held within.

Sam almost tripped over his own feet as Dean took an unexpected stumble backwards, as if trying to get as far away from this place as he could as fast as he could. "She can't be dead," he pleaded, his eyes locked on Mrs. Robinson's face.

"You get out of my house before I call the police!" It was Mrs. Robinson's turn to shout as the shock of Dean's accusations finally wore off and the reality of the situation set in. "And don't you dare show your face at my daughter's funeral! You're not welcome!" Her voice was strong and forceful and she stood her ground as if she had an entire army backing her up rather than being alone in an empty house.

Sam didn't want to see Dean's face at this proclamation so he kept his eyes on Mrs. Robinson. "Please, ma'am, we're sorry. Dean didn't mean to hurt you. He's just in shock." _Please don't do this to him. He's barely holding it together as it is._ "We'll leave but please allow us to attend the funeral. Dean lost her too."

"Get out of my house," was Mrs. Robinson's only reply but her eyes weren't quite as hard as they had been. Sam took this as a sign and nodded.

"We're leaving. Come on, Dean," he murmured, pulling Dean's arm towards the door. They had more than overstayed their welcome.

Dean complied without a fight, as if his legs weren't quite up to acting on their own anymore, but he couldn't help one final whispered question, "How did she die?" His only answer was the slamming of the front door behind them.

WWW

Sam mercifully waited until Dean was all but led to the passenger seat of the car before tearing into him. "Dean was the _hell_ was that back there? She's just lost her daughter for Christ's sake and you're accusing her of being a liar!"

"I thought she was lying," Dean mumbled, staring straight ahead in his seat as Sam fumed on the driver's side.

"That's no excuse for what you did! You turned that poor woman's grief into a lie, Dean! You interrogated her as if she was responsible for Cassie's death!" Sam had a full head of steam and rage now and wouldn't be stopped easily. Dean figured he was probably thinking about how he'd questioned Dr. Mason about his zombie daughter and couldn't really bring himself to care. Cassie was dead. That's all there was to it.

"Just leave it, Sam. You already apologized for the both of us. What more do you want from me?" Dean asked blankly, not once turning to look at him, his gaze fixed on a point through the windshield and down the street.

"Damn it, Dean. I know you're hurting, alright? But you had no right to do that!"

"Fine, I get it. It was wrong. I should have offered tea and sympathy instead. Now can we just go?" Dean muttered, not wanting to talk about this anymore, not wanting to talk about _anything_ anymore. Couldn't Sam see that? He just wanted to be left alone.

Apparently Sam couldn't, or better yet he refused to. "Talk to me, Dean."

"Oh like you've talked about Jessica?" Dean spat back, turning to glare at his brother now. "Because you've been real up front about that, Sam." Sam's jaw clenched at that and Dean knew he had struck a nerve. Good. He was in the mood for a fight.

"I'm not going to fight with you, Dean," Sam said stiffly, as if reading his older brother's mind; or at least the intentions spelled out plainly on his face.

"But you were so ready to before. What's the matter, Sammy? Don't you like having your own hypocrisy shoved back in your face? It's always been a double standard with you. Always, 'tell me your woes, Dean. I'm not going to stop picking until I've learned everything,' but you don't like it when the questions are turned back around, do you? You'll demand answers from me but when I turn around and do the same you spew out some line about how there are some things that you have to keep to yourself. Well fuck you, Sam. I'm keeping this one to myself."

"Stop turning this around on me!" Sam yelled and Dean wanted to laugh. "I'm not the one who was an inch away from beating up an old lady just because she wasn't telling me what I wanted to hear!"

"What? Do you really think I was going to hurt her? I'd never—"

"Bullshit, Dean! If I hadn't been holding you back you would have thrown her against a goddamned wall!" Sam had felt the tension in his brother's arm, heard the icy rage in his voice. He _knew_ Dean would have done it had he allowed him to. "Hell, you punched _me_ just for trying to talk to you!" Sam could still remember the look in his brother's eyes after that. For a short moment—even perhaps only a split second—Dean had hated him. He had looked at him as if he were one of the monsters they hunted every day; like something that had to be put down and fast.

"Yeah, well at least I've never tried to kill you," Dean returned coldly, his eyes hard with the briefest glimmer of the same hate Sam had seen in them that day.

Sam surprised them both by letting out a bitter laugh at that. "Oh that's priceless, Dean, you bringing that up again. I thought we were past that, I thought that you'd forgiven me but obviously I was wrong."

"Obviously," Dean agreed coldly. "If that gun I gave you had been loaded, I would be dead right now. You do know that, don't you Sammy?"

"Yes I do, you stupid jerk! And I think about it every day! I remember pulling the trigger and wishing you dead. I remember the hate and confusion I felt when it didn't happen. I know, alright!" Sam's breath was coming fast and heavy, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of anger and pain. "But I also know how rare it is for you to keep an unloaded weapon on your person in the middle of a job. So tell me, Dean. How sure were you that the gun was unloaded when you handed it to me?" Sam knew his brother practically had a case of OCD when it came to keeping his knives stupidly sharp and his guns loaded no matter what. The fact that he had had an unloaded one with him had always bugged him.

"I knew it was unloaded," Dean growled, and if Sam hadn't been listening for it, he might not have noticed the millisecond's hesitation before the reply.

"Oh really?" Sam scoffed in mocking tones, his lips curled in a cruel smile. "So you didn't want to die, then? You didn't offer yourself up, like always, as a stupid fucking lamb for the slaughter just because poor little Dean wants to make sure _he_ goes first because he can't bear to be left alone." As soon as the hissed words were past his lips, Sam knew he had gone too far.

Fights between family members were by far the most vicious. With siblings or parents and children really started going at it, not only was there no holding back when the barbs started flying, but unerringly you always knew _just_ what to say to strike the deepest. Moreover, you had no qualms about doing so until it was far too late for apologies.

"Get out of the car," Dean growled, opening the passenger side door of his beloved Impala with a wrenching sound that made Sam wince.

"Dean, I didn't mean—" Sam tried, desperately seeking away to take back the words he had thrown in his brother's face in anger; frantic to avoid wherever this was going.

"Get out of the car or I swear by God I'll drag you out by that stupid mop of hair," Dean threatened. A small voice in the back of his head was screaming at him to stop; telling him that this wasn't right, that Sam was his brother and he loved him. Dean didn't bother listening. It was far easier to let the rage burn through any and all rational thought until there was nothing left. His body was thrumming with energy and he just wanted to _hit_ something or someone. The fact that that someone was likely now to be his little brother didn't really enter into his mind.

"Why? So you can beat the crap out of me?" Sam asked with a disappointed frown as he did as Dean demanded. He kept the car in between them as he talked, however. "You can beat my ass into the pavement and it's not going to change anything, Dean. Cassie's still going to be dead."

"Shut up, you stupid son of a bitch. Just _shut up._"

Ok, now Sam was worried. Never had Dean once used such words against him, the implication that their sainted mother was something other than a pristine angel placed high upon a pedestal never spoken about. "Dean, just calm the hell down. I know you're hurting and I know it seems easier to give in to the rage right now than have to deal with everything else, but you don't want to do this." Why the hell wasn't Dean listening to him? He couldn't possibly be that far gone as to realise what he was doing, could he?

"What did I just tell you?" Dean asked through gritted teeth, attempting to make his way around the front of the car to his brother while Sam moved to the back to keep the car between them. "What's the matter, Sammy? Worried that I might hurt you?" Dean drawled as Sam kept moving away from him.

"Dean, something's wrong. You're not thinking straight. You'd never be so ready and willing to hurt me if you were alright. I think something's happened to you," Sam pleaded, his brow furrowing in worry now as his older brother just kept getting angrier and angrier. "Christo!" Sam shouted, not quite knowing what he would do if Dean didn't flinch. He had to be possessed. There had to be something wrong with him. Dean's eyes weren't black, and it was an incredibly sudden possession if that was what it truly was, but it was the only logical explanation for what was happening.

Sam let out a sigh of relief to see Dean visibly flinch at the name of God before wondering what the hell he was relieved for. His brother was possessed! "Dean, I can help you but you have to help me. Now I don't know how the demon got into you, but we've done exorcisms before and I—" Sam cut himself off to see Dean snickering.

"Got you, little brother," Dean said with a wicked grin. "What are you, some kind of idiot? I'm not possessed. Never have been." His grin only got wider at Sam's blatant disbelief. "What? Don't believe me? Christo. Christo, Christo, Christo. Happy now?"

"But I don't understand," Sam said helplessly, his shoulders tensing once more as Dean started coming after him again. They couldn't play tag around the Impala forever.

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. "For someone who always got such good grades in school you're incredibly stupid when it comes to real life, Sammy. I'm not possessed, I'm just tired of your crap, I'm tired of your whining, and most of all I'm tired of _you_."

Sam shook his head in bewilderment. He had been so sure that Dean was possessed… "Just because you're not possessed by a demon doesn't mean that there's not something wrong with you, Dean. This isn't you talking. Something's making you say these things and I'm going to find out what it is." He kept moving around the car, stopping when he got to the trunk. If he could just get to the weapons…

"I wouldn't try it, little brother. Do you honestly think you can get to the weapons before I can get to you?" Dean snickered and inched even closer to him. "Hell, go ahead and try it. Who knows, you might actually make it."

Sam silently cursed himself for not going armed, not knowing what else to do.

"Besides, what are you going to do even if you get the trunk open, Sammy? Shoot me? Your own flesh and blood? That wouldn't be very brotherly, now would it?"

"And what you're planning to do to me is?" Sam returned incredulously.

"How do you even know what I'm going to do to you, Sammy? Maybe I just want a hug?" Dean's green eyes gleamed with wicked mischief with his words.

It was Sam's turn to snort. "You? Hug? Yeah right. You're more likely to shoot me in the face than hug me."

"Now there's an idea," Dean said thoughtfully. "Shame I'm not packing."

"Dean, just think about this! Why the hell would you want to hurt me?"

"Because it's fun," Dean wasted no time in responding.

"The Dean I know would never even consider hurting other people, let alone his brother, fun. I thought you were supposed to take care of me? What happened to that, Dean? You've looked after me our entire lives. What's changed?"

"Maybe I just got tired of having to worry about your sorry ass. Maybe I'm tired of you slowing me down."

This wasn't working. Whatever was happening to Dean, apparently it couldn't be stopped by reasoning and logic. "What are you going to do afterwards?"

Dean cocked his head to the side in confusion over the question. "What do you mean, afterwards? After what?"

"After you do whatever it is you intend on doing to me," Sam clarified.

"I guess I haven't really thought about it," Dean said with a casual shrug. "Get out town, I guess."

"And Cassie? Are you going to go to her funeral tomorrow?" Sam pressed, trying his luck. Whatever was happening to Dean now had to be happening because of Cassie's death. Sam was out of other explanations.

Dean scowled. "Why should I? She didn't tell me she was dying; she didn't even bother. Just like Dad, she only called when she wanted something from me, and now she's dead just like him. I hope they're both burning in hell."

Sam's eyes widened in his skull. "Do you even hear yourself? Are you hearing what you're saying? You're full of shit, man. You don't wish that they were in hell, you wish that they were still here with you so that you wouldn't have to deal with their loss. You miss them both so much that it's made you vulnerable to…whatever this is that's controlling you."

"You think you've got it all figured out, do you?" Dean asked idly, coming closer and closer to Sam where he stood his ground at the trunk of the car, "Well I'll tell you something, Sammy—" Dean was abruptly cut off by Sam's unexpected tackle, sending both brother's down hard on the asphalt. There was a sick crack of bone on concrete and Dean went still.

WWW

Dean moaned and rolled to his side, the scent of stale sweat, sex and cigarettes assaulting his nose. Memories came attached with the smell and he knew before opening his eyes that he was in a motel room, likely on the bed if the softness beneath him was any judge.

This newfound awareness of his surroundings unfortunately came attached with searing pain emanating somewhere from the back of his head. Dean's features contorted in pain and he raised a hand to inspect the damage only to be brought up short when he couldn't seem to separate his wrists. "What the hell?" he murmured, finally opening his eyes. Sight brought with it no less pain than smell had. His brow furrowed to see that his wrists were tied securely together by a thick length of rope he recognised from their supply. Lifting his aching head slightly up off of the bed, he looked down to see that his feet were similarly bound.

"You're awake," a voice announced, and Dean's eyes drifted further still to see Sam sitting at the small room table holding dad's journal in one hand and a shotgun in the other. A shotgun that was pointed directly at him.

"Whoa, dude. Watch where you're pointing that thing," Dean said, holding up his bound wrists in a foolish attempt to fend off a bullet should one be fired in his direction. "And what's with the bondage games? Little kinky, don't you think? I didn't know you went for that kind of thing, Sammy. You going to tell me why I'm trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey or leave me to my imagination?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You don't remember?" The shotgun didn't waver from its target.

"Remember what? We were going to see Mrs. Robinson and then…" Dean trailed off with a frown. "Oh shit."

"So you _do_ remember then?" Sam pressed upon seeing the look on Dean's face.

Dean swallowed. "Pretty much." He looked up and met Sam's eyes directly. "Think I'm possessed?"

"So that _wasn't_ really you?" Sam had to hear the words from his brother's mouth before he would believe them.

"Sure I might want to smack you around a little every once and awhile, who wouldn't? But it was more than that. I…I wanted to _hurt_ you, Sammy. And if you hadn't stopped me I would have." Dean's face paled at that. He had very nearly hurt the one person he had sworn to protect above all others.

Sam watched Dean's face pale and could guess at what he was thinking about, but he wasn't yet fully convinced. "Do you still want to hurt me, Dean?"

"What? No! I don't want to hurt you, Sam. Hell, I'm not even upset for waking up like an extra in a bad porno film."

The shotgun in Sam's good hand finally lowered. "You're not undressed, Dean. I didn't even take your boots off."

"Like I said, a _bad_ porno film," Dean said with a smug grin and Sam knew his brother was back; at least for the moment.

"Do you have any idea what happened, Dean? I mean, I said Christo early, I even doused you with a bottle of holy water while you were out and I got nothing."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Dean murmured, now able to explain why his hair felt damp. "I don't know, Sam. It was like one minute everything was fine and flying straight and the next…" He shrugged as best he could while lying down. "Hey, think you can help me sit up while we talk about this?"

Sam nodded and put the shotgun down well out of reach of the bed Dean was laying on, glad that his brother hadn't yet asked to be untied. Especially as neither of them had any idea what had happened. Once Dean was leaning against the headboard, Sam once more stepped outside of the ring of rock salt he had drawn around the bed. Better safe than sorry. Dean surely noticed but didn't call him on it.

"If not a demon, what then? It's not as if we're in the middle of a case right now, is it?" Sam mused out loud, not really having answers for his own questions. "What happened, exactly? I mean, I know you were mad at me, but was there anything else?"

Dean shook his head. "All I could feel was rage. If that's even close to what you felt when Ellicot had you, then no wonder you shot me," Dean said wryly. He paused. "Well, there was something else."

"What?" Sam asked when Dean wasn't immediately forthright.

"I really wanted to get laid," Dean said with a wry grin. "But that's not exactly abnormal behaviour for me so I wouldn't put too much stock into it." The grin faded and Dean's eyes grew serious. "Of course, it would probably be in poor taste to get laid the night before your girlfriend's funeral."

"Probably," Sam agreed softly, not knowing what else to say.

"Think Cassie's mom will call the cop's on me when I show up at the funeral?" he asked with a sad sort of smile.

"As long as you keep your mouth shut and allow me to be your advocate _for once_, I think we'll be alright."

"Except for the whole me being possessed without a demon or ghost to blame thing."

"Well yes, excepting that." Sam sighed and reclaimed his seat at the small table. "Have you noticed _anything_ different lately? Anything at all? Besides today, I mean."

Dean thought about it for a moment and shook his head. "No, things have been more or less normal, considering. It's not like we've spent a lot of time apart, Sam."

"Yeah, I know. And I've been asking myself the same questions. But honestly man, you've more or less been your normal, annoying self."

"Maybe it was nothing. A normal reaction to one hell of a bad day," Dean muttered.

"You really believe that?"

"I will if you will," Dean said with a sigh.

"Think this has something to do with Cassie? I mean, you have to admit the timing is pretty odd."

"Yeah, Sam. I'm being possessed by the ghost of my dead girlfriend."

"Stranger things have happened," Sam said with a shrug. "But no, she didn't die a violent death. There's no reason for her to come back."

Dean sat up straighter on the bed. "What? You found out how she died? Tell me, Sam. What happened?"

"Well I uh, kind of hacked into the local medical records while you were unconscious. I figured you would probably want answers."

"Answers which I'm not getting here, Sam."

"Apparently she died of some sort of autoimmune disease," Sam said with a frown, moving back to the laptop to corroborate what he remembered reading. "Yeah, her immune system was weak for some reason and the doctors couldn't figure out why. She just kept getting sicker."

Dean's fists clenched and unclenched as he listened to Cassie's diagnosis, the rope binding them creaking with the movement. "Was it AIDS?"

Sam's eyes shot up to meet his. "No, no, nothing like that. The doctors tested her for all kinds of diseases but they never found anything conclusive."

"How long?" Dean swallowed and clarified. "How long was she sick for?"

It was Sam's turn to swallow now. "Since May."

"It's January," Dean pointed out, quickly doing the math. "Nine months she was sick and she never called me. Not once. And now she's gone." He let out a short bitter laugh. "I guess she was right about things not working out between us."

"Dean—"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. Some things just aren't meant to be, Sam. That's all." He leaned his head back against the wall and Sam could practically see the walls going up behind Dean's eyes; twice as high and thick as they had been before. Sam figured he must be getting better at them with all this practice. "Didn't we leave around May?" Dean asked suddenly, startling Sam out of his observations.

Sam thought about it. "Yeah, I think we did. Around the 1st."

Dean nodded. "So Cassie started getting sick right after we left."

"Well yeah, but that doesn't mean anything, Dean. Sometimes people just get sick. Sometimes people just die."

"Not around us. Don't tell me you haven't noticed the pattern, Sammy. First Mom, then Jessica, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Dad and now Cassie. Something killed her, Sam. And I'm going to find out what it is."

TBC

A/N: Well this was a fun chapter. There's trouble afoot all around. Sorry for leaving Dean a bit tied up, so to speak, but this chapter was already getting long so I decided to split it into two parts. More in a few days. Until then, please review. :-D


	4. Chapter 3

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Three

"…_Don't tell me you haven't noticed the pattern, Sammy. First Mom, then Jessica, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Dad and now Cassie. Something killed her, Sam. And I'm going to find out what it is."_

Sam sighed and settled back in his chair. He _had_ noticed. "But that doesn't change anything, Dean. We still don't know what's wrong with you."

Dean didn't answer that. "What about your vision? Do you think that has something to do with this?"

Sam paled, having forgotten all about the vision in the midst of everything else. How could he have forgotten? Had he gotten her killed by not trying to figure out who she was? Was she dead already? Could he have prevented it? His head spun with the questions. "I don't, uh, I don't know, Dean."

"Dude, just once I'd like your visions to come with a time stamp or something, you know? This whole vague flashes and jumbled information is hardly helpful."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, that'd be nice." He eyed his bound brother carefully. "But that still doesn't tell us what's happened to you."

"No it doesn't, but I can't stay tied up like this forever, Sammy. Someone might see and get the wrong idea," he said with a smirk.

"No, I know that, but what happens when you go all Norman Bates on me again?"

"Jeeze, Sam. Have a little faith, would you? Shouldn't you be saying _if_ not when I go all Norman Bates on you? And dude, Norman Bates? I _so_ don't think I'm mom."

"Dean, haven't you been paying any attention to our lives at all? Of _course_ it's a matter of when."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said with a sigh, thumping his head against the wall in frustration. "Hope for the best but prepare for the worst because the worst _always_ comes when your last name happens to be Winchester."

"Exactly," Sam said with a nod before growing playfully thoughtful. "Think we should change it?"

"What? Our name? Are you kidding me? Chicks did the fact that I'm named after a rifle."

"Dude I've seen the women you hang out with. Most of them wouldn't even know which end of a rifle to point let alone know that they're called Winchesters."

"Stop your yapping Francis, and untie me. There's a pair of cuffs in my duffle over there. Side pocket," Dean directed as Sam moved to get the cuffs. "Don't scuff the salt line," he added when Sam walked back to him.

"Do I want to know why you have these?" Sam asked, stepping carefully over the ring of rock salt surrounding Dean's bed. He didn't know if it was actually helping any, but better safe than sorry.

"Probably not, but that's your loss, not mine."

"Are you going to try and attack me again if I untie you?" Sam asked, only half kidding.

"I don't think so, but I guess we won't know until you try it," Dean said with as nonchalant a shrug as he could manage. "How about you cuff my hands together before you untie them? It's an easy enough solution, and cuffs are so much nicer than rope. This stuff burns like a mother," he complained, trying not to shift his wrists around any more than he had to while Sam untied his feet.

"Sorry, I should have put a cloth or something around your wrists first but I was more concerned about you waking up and trying to kill me again than I was your comfort," Sam murmured, tossing the length of rope to the floor and carefully avoiding Dean's now freed legs. A steel-toed boot to the face would ruin anyone's day.

"You'll know better next time," Dean murmured over the click of the handcuffs being securely fitted over his wrists. He frowned as he looked down at them, grateful to be rid of the rope but not knowing where things were going next. He couldn't stay tied up forever and they both knew it. "We need to fix this. And fast. I can't show up at Cassie's funeral wearing cuffs, Sammy." He looked up and met his brother's eyes, trying to impart how serious he was.

Sam nodded, running a hand through his shaggy hair as he took a seat down on the bed next to his older brother. "You still can't think of anything different that's happened to you lately?"

"I think I would have remembered being cursed, Sammy," Dean said dryly.

"It could be a cursed object," Sam said thoughtfully, looking pointedly at the pendant around his brother's neck and the ring on his finger; neither of which he ever took off.

Dean followed Sam's gaze and scowled. "Oh that's just low. You think?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, anyone who followed you around long enough to curse you would have noticed you never take them off. How do we test if they're cursed objects or not?"

"We don't," Dean muttered, his scowl deepening. "Or at least, if there's a way I never knew it. We usually just find the things and get rid of them, you know?"

"Yeah but you're not going to just get rid of your stuff, are you? Dean you've had that pendant almost as long as I've known you. Besides, if it was something like that that's causing this, wouldn't you be affected all of the time? I mean, why now? Unless this curse or whatever is something that happened to you recently." Sam moved a bit closer to get a better look at his brother. "I mentioned it before and I'll say it again, you look pretty damn good for getting no sleep these past few days."

"Dude, I always look good," Dean responded almost as if it were instinctive. Perhaps it was. "I feel fine though, considering."

"Yeah you feel fine except for when you're trying to kill me."

"Pretty much," Dean agreed with a half shrug.

"Did you do anything else last night?"

"Besides Anne the prospective mechanical engineer and part-time waitress?" Dean asked, with definitely less smugness than such a comment would have normally garnered from him.

Sam flushed regardless. "Besides her. Unless…?"

"Unless what? Do you think she's the one who cursed me?"

Sam spread his hands in consideration. "Think about it, Dean. You hook up with some total stranger last night and now you're trying to kill me. Do the math, man."

"Huh," Dean muttered, thinking it over. "She seemed so normal… I should have known though. The red-heads are always trouble."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll head back to Bolder tomorrow after the funeral and find out for sure."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "After the funeral." He could practically feel his brother's eyes burning a hole into the side of his face and he knew he probably should have tried to sound more cheerful and less like he was going to wander off any moment now and have himself a nice long cry. Not that he was, of course, but that's what Sam always seemed to think. When Dean heard Sam take in a slow breath as if preparing for something, he knew he was in for it.

"Dean, I know you don't like talking about this kind of thing, 'no chick-flick moments,' I remember, but come on. It hasn't even been months since Dad died and now you've lost Cassie too. Don't tell me that you're alright with all of this." Dean glanced over at him and right away knew that he shouldn't have. Sam had his puppy-eyed, endearing face turned on full blast and what was worse, the little bitch probably knew it. "Just talk to me, Dean. That's all I want."

Dean's brow furrowed as he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, the handcuffs making too-loud clattering sounds against each other in the oppressive silence that had descended as Sam waited for an answer to his plea. "I guess it hasn't really sunk in yet," he murmured finally, giving Sam a shrug. He didn't really know why he was being honest with his annoying and persistent little brother but he thought that just maybe it had more than a little to do with the fact that he'd tried to kill him earlier today. Such things were apt to make someone more agreeable to demands with guilt goading them on.

"We've kind of had other things to deal with, you know? Like my oh-so-inopportune possession or cursing or whatever the hell it is. I mean, I know she…" he trailed off without wanting to and frowned, looking away from Sam as he spoke. He couldn't unload or whatever like Sam wanted him to with Sam looking at him like that; as if he were about to break into a thousand sharp pieces at any second. "I know she's dead, alright? I'm not in some kind of denial or anything like that, but there's a big difference between knowing and seeing it for yourself first hand."

He didn't see it but he practically felt a change in the air as Sam nodded. "Is that why you didn't believe Mrs. Robinson? Why you accused her of lying?" He paused and looked confused for a moment. "Or was that even you speaking? When did the… We need to decide what it is just to give it a name," he muttered almost to himself before continuing on, "When did the curse take over? If it was when we entered the house then maybe it has something to do with the house."

"We have too many ideas and not enough answers," Dean muttered in irritation. "If it was the house though, it probably would have affected you too, not just me."

"Maybe," Sam agreed, "but I didn't know the Robinsons like you did, Dean. Maybe it was focussed on you."

"By who? Cassie's mom? A jealous ex-boyfriend of Cassie's who's pissed to see the competition here at all let alone here for her funeral?" The question was bitter but Dean wouldn't allow Sam to call him on it, continuing on without pause, "There are a thousand possibilities, Sammy. It could be any one of them. We just don't know." Dean wanted to rub a hand through his hair in frustration but stopped halfway up when he remembered that his hands were cuffed together. "Uncuff me, Sammy. I want to go out."

"What? Where are you going?" Sam asked in disbelief. Did his brother not remember why he was handcuffed in the first place?

"Out," Dean answered succinctly, his eyes narrowing and the muscles of his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth; both signs that he was getting pissed off and fast.

"Out," Sam repeated, beginning to get just the slightest bit irritated himself at Dean's non-answers. "Out where?"

"Oh I have to account for my whereabouts to you now, do I? Warden Sammy has to know everything his big brother does otherwise he can't sleep at night." The words were growled past Dean's lips and his eyes grew hard at being questioned.

Sam put up a hand, in no mood to fight when Dean got like this. He knew Dean was probably just striking out against him so that he wouldn't have to deal with his own grief—that was just what Dean did—but Sam didn't want him to. He would take the abuse, knowing it was the only way Dean knew how to deal with everything, if he had to, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to prevent such things from happening before hand. He didn't really like being slugged by his older brother. "In case you'd forgotten, and I'm not saying that you have, we have a serious problem here, Dean."

"Oh really? And what's that? Because the only problem I can see right now is you standing in between me and my way out. Give me the keys, Sammy."

Sam took a breath. "No, Dean. I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to just let you _wander off_ on your own when we haven't even the slightest idea what's wrong with you! You could go out there and hurt someone for all we know, Dean. Be reasonable." Sam was doing his very best to keep his voice as even and as calm as possible, seeing that Dean quickly becoming irrational. "I know this sucks, alright? It sucks hard. You find out that your girlfriend has just died and ok, you want to go out and maybe have a drink; or six. But you can't because your stupid little brother has you handcuffed on a bed sitting in the middle of a ring of rock salt in a dingy motel room. Just because he thinks you _might_ go out and do something.

"I get it. You want to go out and forget about life for awhile. I understand. I really do. But you can't, Dean. Not until we figure this out. Not until we know you're safe." Sam said the words with a frown and a furrowed brow, as if the very act of speaking them was distasteful. And it was. Even _considering_ the fact that Dean, his jerk, selfless hero of a brother would actually go out and hurt someone, or worse _kill_ someone in cold blood, was unthinkable. But Sam had seen the reactions of people who were possessed or cursed. He had seen the hate in Dean's eyes after they had left Mrs. Robinson's. Hate like what he was seeing again now in Dean's eyes… "Dean? Are you alright? Say something." It was only now that Sam realised that Dean hadn't said a word throughout his entire tirade. Not one argument or statement of denial. Right now, his brother's silence was far more worrying than any amount of ranting would have been.

"Get out of my way or I swear I'll _make_ you get out of my way," Dean hissed, rising to his feet between the two beds and facing off to Sam who did the same.

"And how are you going to do that, Dean?" Sam asked with a frown, making no move to get out of Dean's way as he was ordered. "Your wrists are cuffed and you haven't got the keys. You're not going—" Sam was cut off by a vicious steel-toed kick to the ankle, causing his leg to buckle and his eyes to water in surprise and pain but not before he all-out shoved Dean backwards onto the bed.

Dean went down hard, landing on the flat of his back in the middle of the bed with a grunt, not able to brace his fall with his cuffed hands. "You're going to pay for that, little brother. How's the ankle? Did I break it? God I hope I did. It'd go so well with your broken hand, don't you think?"

Sam hobbled backwards a step and just stared at his brother with a mixture of pain, anger and utter horror. What the hell was going on? One minute they were just talking and the next Dean was ready to slit his throat with a dull spoon again. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" he demanded, his voice booming in the small motel room.

The-thing-that-could-not-be-Dean laughed and raised himself up off of the bed, a wicked smirk playing across his features. "No one's done anything with me, Sammy. No one but you. I'm still Dean. I'm still your brother. Except now my eyes are open."

"Stay away from me!" Sam further demanded, limping away further as Dean stood up once more between the beds. "If you can hear me in there at all Dean, please try and fight this. I don't know what this thing that has you is or what it wants but I know that you can fight it. You're my big brother. You can fight anything."

"Aww, that's sweet. Come here, Sammy. I think I might cry. We can cry together, you and I. Isn't that what you've always wanted? For me to open up to you and tell you oh boo-hoo Dad's dead, Cassie's dead, what am I going to do? Well maybe I killed them both, Sam. Ever think of that? I mean clearly I killed Dad. There's no question about that, now is there? But hell, maybe I killed Cassie too. Wouldn't that be something? I mean she did get sick _right_ after we left and boy oh boy did I ever fuck her brains out before we rode off into the fucking sunset." Not-Dean snickered and laughed, shaking his head ruefully like this was all a big joke. "And she was smokin' hot then and I'm damn sure she's probably smokin' hot still. Think her mom would let me have one last go at her before they put her in the ground?"

"Shut up dude, just shut up," Sam said, shaking his head in disgust. "You're sick and I'm going to find a way to get rid of you. I'm not going to let you do this to my brother any longer."

"But I _am_ your brother, little Sammy. No one's doing anything to me at all. I'm still your big brother. What, you don't believe me? Quiz me."

"I'm not—" Sam started.

"Go on. Do it like they do in the sci-fi movies where they have to decide between two people who look exactly the same on which one's the real one. You know what I mean. Of course, you never did that back in St. Louis with the shape shifter, now did you? No you just _assume_ that because I wanted to beat on you for awhile that I had to be evil. Ever wonder that I've been the shape shifter all along and that I really killed Dean?" He grinned and Sam unintentionally held a breath, half expecting to see not-Dean's eyes shift to reflective silver as the shape shifter's had. "But whatever. I suppose you'll just rationalise anything I say away even if you _do_ quiz me. Something like, 'Oh well since you're possessed, the demon in you can access all of your thoughts,' and blah, blah, blah. There's no demon in me, Sam. You saw it for yourself. Christo didn't work, holy water didn't work, you're shit out of luck, little bro. There's no one here but me. Good old Dean."

"Talk all you like, but you're not going to convince me. You may look like him, you may sound like him, but you are _not_ my brother," Sam declared, standing confidently now as best he could on his throbbing ankle. He prayed it wasn't broken but he didn't have the time to check on it now. "I'm going to find a way to fix this. I'm going to get my brother back—"

"Or die trying, right?" Not-Dean interjected with a smirk, taking a large step closer to Sam. "I personally prefer that option, in case you were wondering or about to ask my opinion on the subject, by the way. But then again, you're a genius. You probably guessed that already."

"No. I'm just going to get him back. That's it. I've faced worse things than this and I've always managed just fine," Sam said defiantly, standing his ground even as the thing that was controlling his brother moved even closer to him.

"'Always managed just fine,' huh? Right. And that demon who killed your mom, pretty little Jess and oh right, your dad, you showed it but good, right? I mean you sent that bastard screaming and hurting back straight to hell, didn't you? Oh wait, you didn't. In fact, you all pretty much got your asses handed to you, didn't you? And Dean, well no matter what he may think about being brought back when he was in a coma as the reason Dad's dead, that's not it. If I hadn't mouthed off to a demon just to get him to stop picking on my whiny little brother, I would never have nearly bled to death in first place."

"That's not true," Sam growled, wishing whatever the hell this thing was would just shut up and get on with it already.

"Oh am I boring you or are you just taking a page from big brother's book by mouthing off when I strike a nerve? Dean's got that down to a science, you know. Or maybe you don't. You don't notice him, Sam. You never have and you never will. You pretend to care but let's face it. When it comes right down to it, you don't have the balls to follow through. Dean's become a master at evasion and distraction and what's worse is that you let him get away with it." He laughed. "You've done more damage by letting him change the subject with some meaningless joke or quip than I ever will. And yet," he laughed again, "and yet I've given myself away, haven't I? Rule number one, never forget your tenses when possessing someone. It does tend to make everything seem a bit obvious, doesn't it? Then again, I would know that. I, your brother Dean would know all about demon possessions and 'monologuing' as it were. They do tend to ramble on, don't they Sammy? I mean just think of Meg. She couldn't even die quickly. No, no she had to stay around just long enough to answer all of our questions and yet be totally and utterly vague about it at the same time. Don't you hate that? But oh well. She's dead and I'm here."

Sam honestly had no clue as to what he was supposed to say. Just standing here listening to the utter crap—more so than usual—that was coming out of Dean's mouth was beyond the pale. If he needed any further proof that Dean was possessed, this was it. It bothered him that holy water and the name of God seemed to have no effect, however. Things like that usually meant that they were dealing with a more powerful demon than your average run-of-the-mill annoyance who at the worse made your head turn full around and caused you to spew pea soup in all directions. This was bad. They needed help and fast. "Dean, look. If you can still hear me at all I'm going to call Bobby."

"Aw what's wrong, little Sammy? Can't fight me on your own? Pity there's no demon to exorcise. When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I'm not possessed?"

Sam took another large step backwards, taking care where he stepped. "I'll believe it when you cross the salt circle."

"If saying Christo didn't work, and holy water didn't work, what makes you think a ring of spilled table salt is going to have any affect at all? You're putting a hell of a lot of faith in a little food seasoning, don't you think?"

"Because rock salt repels more than just demons," Sam returned with a sneer. "But of course if you were really Dean, you would have _known_ that."

"Just testing you, Sammy," Not-Dean said with a smirk.

Sam just rolled his eyes. "I don't see you coming any closer, _Dean_. What's the matter, afraid to prove me right? I thought you wanted out of here? Or have you changed your mind?"

"I haven't changed anything, Sammy. You're the only one who thinks I've changed. And what would you really know anyway? As if you've ever really known the real me. I lie as easily as breathing. We both do. What makes you think that I haven't been lying to you this whole time? There's a lot you don't know about me, Sam. But then again, you've never really wanted to know, did you? I mean you just packed up and left for your so-called better life in California. You didn't call, you didn't write, hell did you even think about us _once_ while you were off being Mr. Joe College? I seriously doubt it. You haven't even asked once, not one time what I did those two years while you were gone. You haven't even bothered to find out whether or not Dad and I needed you." He laughed. "But I bet you're probably thinking that I'm here, alive, I must not have needed you. Do you have any idea how many new scars I got those two years you weren't around to watch my back? I mean sure, I talk big and say that chicks dig 'em, but fuck, what the hell else am I going to say, dude? At least my face is still pretty."

"I'm hearing a whole lot of yapping without substance but I'm not seeing a whole lot of walking. Come on Deano, cross the salt line. The worst that could happen is that it stops you and hell if it doesn't you'll be able to kick the crap out of my shocked and surprised ass. What are you waiting for?" Sam made sure to sound as antagonizing and smug as humanly possible in order to draw whatever was moving around using his brother's body closer to the thick white line of salt. In truth, Sam was putting a hell of a lot on the faith that his theory would hold and that the thing that was controlling Dean couldn't cross the circle. If that didn't hold true…well there was still the shotgun on the floor behind him if it came to that. Dean had found out the hard way once that a shell full of rock salt to the chest definitely made you lie back and take stock of things for awhile. It wasn't something that Sam wanted to do again to his brother, _ever_, but he was quickly running out of better options.

Sam's words must have had at least something of the desired effect because Not-Dean actually _growled_ at him. It wasn't a sound that you'd only hear from a large cat or anything _but_ Dean's throat, but it was definitely a growl. "I think you're all talk," Sam continued on smugly. "That's what most demons are, you know. All talk. They just talk and talk and do really do _anything._ But if you really aren't a demon possessing my brother then I guess that doesn't apply to you. Look, are you going to cross the damn circle or not? Because honestly, I'm getting pretty bored just standing here waiting for you to do something. Not to mention my ankle kills. I probably shouldn't even be on my feet, you know. I think I'd better sit down." Sam nodded seriously as if knowing he should follow such words of advice to the letter and took a seat at the small table he had been sitting at earlier. "But that's alright. Take your time, I guess. If you need to gather up your courage or something, that's fine. I'll just surf the internet or something."

"I'm going to rip your face off and use this fucking salt circle to salt the wound, you fucking bastard," Not-Dean hissed, coming even closer to the line of truth.

"Ooo, those are fighting words there, Deano," Sam taunted. "And I happen to like my face so why on earth would I let you do something like that?" He leaned back in his chair a little, seemingly at ease and peace with the world despite being stuck in a room with the demon-possessed body of his older brother.

"You wont have a choice!" Not-Dean growled and finally did exactly what Sam had wanted. He rushed the salt ring like a linebacker on the line and Sam felt himself tensing up for the moment of truth. _Maybe I shouldn't have goaded him on so much… He certainly looks pissed off—_ His thoughts were cut off abruptly and a wide grin made its way to his face as the thing possessing his brother literally bounced backward as if he were a bird flying into a too-clear window. Sam couldn't help himself and nearly doubled over in laughter at the look of pure misery, rage and confusion that moved over his brother's features. If this had been any other time and were the situation not so deadly serious, he would have prayed for a camera just to savor the moment. When the laughter went on longer and harder than it should have all rights gone, Sam realised he was probably just the slightest bit hysterical and was probably just laughing to ease the incredible tension that had filled the room. Finally after what seemed like forever, he managed to get ahold of himself and rose to his feet to confront his possessed brother.

"Holy water may not stop you, saying the word of God in Latin may have no affect on you, but you can't tell me that this '_pathetic ring of spilled table salt'_ didn't stop you. Now I don't know what you are or what you're doing to my brother right now when you're in there with him, but you've got two choices; either get the hell out of my brother right this fucking instant or I will _make_ you get out of him!"

"There's—there's no one in here but me, Sammy," his brother said in a small voice, stumbling backwards onto the bed in shock as if he were the one with the injured ankle. "No ghost, no demon, just me. Just Dean," he murmured, sitting down heavily on the bed and looking down at his handcuffed hands as if they held all the answers of the universe.

"I don't believe that," Sam said with a snort and a shake of his head. "It's just more of your lies. You couldn't cross the salt line. I saw it with my own eyes. It bounced you back like a rubber ball. You're not leaving that bed until I break the circle and I'm not breaking the circle until I've got my brother back."

"I am your brother, Sammy!" the man on the bed pleaded, his eyes wide and desperate. "I'm Dean, your awesome older brother and I'll admit I'm scared out of my mind here, dude. But not literally. There are no voices in my head, no 'Danny's not here anymore, Mrs. Torrance,' nothing like that."

Sam frowned at the 'Shining' reference, knowing that his _real_ brother was prone to them. But the demon or ghost or whatever had made such typically Dean comments before as well. There was no way of knowing if the Dean speaking right now really was his brother. "If you really were my brother then you'd be telling me how to exorcise whatever it is that's controlling you, not that there's nothing to exorcise. Come on. How stupid do you think I am?"

"I don't think you're stupid, Sammy. I think you're my geek younger brother who can figure out anything he puts his mind to but you're not listening to me! I'm telling you, straight up, that there's no one else in here but me. Something's happened to _me_, Sam. Something that doesn't let _me_ cross the salt line, not whatever's inside of me. I look at that damned thing and I know what everything we use it against must feel like. I can't cross it and I can't even look at it without trying to count the fucking grains. Do you have any idea how _hard_ that is? Especially when the moment you have the number in your head, it vanishes and you have to start over. It sucks, Sammy. And it scares me that I'm forced to do it. I mean, I've been able to cross salt lines before, haven't I?" he asked with a hint of desperation in his voice. "I mean, I came back from wherever I was at the hospital, right? You'd tell me if I was a ghost, wouldn't you Sammy?"

"Of course I would," Sam answered automatically, responding to the blatant pleading and fear he saw in his brother's eyes and willing to do anything to make it go away. "You're not a ghost, Dean."

"Are you sure? How do you know?" Dean started pacing back and forth within the tight confines of the circle, wincing whenever he got too close to the edges. At least Sam had made it a wide enough ring to pace in. If it had been directly around the bed he might have gone insane.

"I just do, Dean. You're nor a ghost. You're my flesh and blood annoying older brother."

"And something else that apparently can't cross a salt circle," Dean muttered, still pacing.

"So you're really him again? You're Dean again? You don't still want to rip my face off or anything, do you?" Sam asked, his words light and trying their best to be joking but failing miserably.

Dean paled and halted his pacing to look at his little brother. "God, no. I would never hurt you, Sammy. But…but I wanted to. God I wanted to. You wouldn't let me leave and that made me _so _angry. I just wanted to leave and you wouldn't get out of my way." Dean shook his head and took a seat on the bed. "I don't even know why I was that upset. You were just trying to help. You didn't want me to go out and hurt anyone." He looked up and met Sam's eyes directly. "And I would have, Sam. I would have hurt someone tonight if I had gotten out." He swallowed and looked away, unable to face his brother for this next revelation. "I would have _killed_ someone tonight, Sammy," he whispered. "A person, Sam. Not what we hunt every day but an actual person."

"It's ok, Dean," Sam tried in sympathy. "You didn't—"

"Dude it is so far from ok it's not even funny anymore," Dean breathed in horror. "You're not listening to me! I could have _murdered_ someone tonight just because I felt like making someone else hurt as much as I do!"

Sam raised his hand in attempt to soothe his brother's anger. "Whoa, man. Just calm down, alright? Breathe or something. Because if what I've noticed holds true, this…whatever it is that's causing you to act this way feed off of anger. So you need to calm yourself down right now." The words were as much of an order now as they had been on the airplane when Dean was in danger of demon possession. Only this time, Dean hadn't managed to prevent whatever had happened to him. He was only now dealing with the consequences.

TBC

A/N: Ok, this has become the scene that will not end. Lol. Seriously, I had planned to get much more accomplished in this chapter but then Dean had to turn all evil again and Sam had to deal with the aftermath. Poor Sammy will need his brother's help in a big way next chapter, but how is Dean supposed to get past the salt line? Until then. Thanks for reading and please do me the kindness of leaving a review. They help to let me know that what I'm writing isn't totally worthless. Thanks.


	5. Chapter 4

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Four

Dean stopped his pacing and forced himself to sit on the bed, nodding as he breathed slowly, desperate to calm himself down. What Sam had said made sense and he was doing his best to comply.

"That's it," Sam encouraged when he saw Dean was trying. "Just uh, think happy thoughts or something, bro." The glare he got for that made him smile briefly and not necessarily happily. "Well alright, think sad thoughts then. Just don't get angry."

"Or else I'll turn into the incredible hulk," Dean muttered just loud enough for Sam to hear. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry," he deadpanned.

"Whatever keeps you from threatening to rip my face off is good enough for me, Dean," Sam murmured blithely before catching the look of pain that sped over Dean's face quick enough that Sam thought he might have imagined it. "It wasn't you, Dean. I don't know what it was exactly, but I know that. You would never hurt me. You've never hurt me."

Dean nodded and did his best to relax on the bed. He would become a freaking Zen master at controlling his emotions if it kept him from hurting his little brother. "There's no demon, Sam. And you know it's me talking now so listen up. I'm telling you the truth, there's no one else in here but me. Whatever this is, whatever's happening, is happening to _me._"

Sam frowned but nodded. "But a cursed object wouldn't prevent you from crossing the salt line, would it? Try crossing it now. Maybe it'll be different now that you're more your normal self."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean muttered, not sounding the least bit convinced. He rose to his feet and walked to the salt circle's edge however, and held out his hand. "Nope. I'm still stuck in here. I can't cross it." He shook his head and backed away, being so close to the salt actually made him feel nauseous. "It's like walking into a brick wall."

"Dean? Are you alright?" Sam asked in worry when Dean's face paled a little and he clutched his stomach. "Dean, talk to me!"

"I'm—I'm alright. Just give me a minute. I need to stop counting." He shut his eyes tightly and sunk with lacking grace back down to the bed.

"Counting? What do you mean?" Sam asked before Dean's earlier comments dawned on him. Dean was forced to try and count all the grains of salt before he could cross it. "Jesus, Dean. I'm sorry. I thought it would work now."

"It's alright," Dean said in a shaky voice, sending Sam a weak smile that he was valiantly trying to make strong again. Sam could see him visibly trying to regain control of himself, and it was almost painful to watch.

"I'll break the circle, Dean. Handcuffs are one thing, this is entirely another. I don't want to hurt you." Sam got up from his chair, wincing a little as he put weight on his bad ankle.

"No! No, don't do that, Sam. That circle is the only thing keeping me here. It's the only thing preventing me from going out, from hurting people. You can't get rid of it. Not until we figure out what the hell is wrong with me."

Sam didn't like hearing such desperation in his brother's voice. Dean was supposed to be the one in charge and in control, always able to laugh in the face of extreme danger and come out unscathed. Sam knew he held his brother on a high pedestal of infallibility, but damn it, that was the way things were supposed to be! Sam knew he was probably a hypocritical bastard for thinking such things, especially given all the time he pressed his brother about opening up and sharing his feelings, but Dean Winchester wasn't supposed to need reassurance from anyone! But if that were true, then why did Sam feel like crossing the imprisoning circle and taking his brother into his arms and telling him that everything would be alright, machismo be damned.

"We'll figure it out, Dean," Sam said, halting his walk to the circle by Dean's pleading eyes alone. "You know we will. You've just to keep from getting angry until then, that's all. It'll be good for your blood pressure."

"Yeah, and as prevention against fratricide," Dean said with a sigh, letting himself fall backwards on the bed in an utterly weary gesture. "Don't give me a gun."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked, thrown by the sudden change in subject. "What are you talking about, Dean?"

Dean raised his head from the mattress and looked at him. "If and when you break the circle or undo my cuffs, do _not_ let me have a gun."

"And if we're hunting?" Sam pressed, understanding Dean's meaning now.

"If we're hunting, knives work almost as well and they're a hell of a lot easier to dodge than bullets." Dean pointed out, his voice clear with the implications Sam would be facing if Dean was taken over again by whatever was controlling him while armed. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sam. No matter what." His voice was hard in its finality. There would be no compromises.

"I know that, Dean. I trust you. I always have. You would never hurt me if you had the choice."

"You're not listening," Dean said coolly, trying not to get upset at Sam's apparently deliberate misunderstanding of what he was trying to say. "I don't care whether I have a choice or not. _I am not hurting you._ I'd turn a knife or a gun on myself before I turned it on you."

"Don't say that. You're—" Whatever Sam was drowned out by the gasping moan of pain that escaped past Sam's lips. Dean could only watch in horror as Sam's eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he dropped like a bag of concrete to the ground and didn't move; outside of the ring of rock salt where his brother couldn't do anything but watch.

WWW

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, his eyes wide in shock and horror. "Sam!" he shouted, getting up and running to his brother's unmoving form on the floor momentarily forgetting the reality of his situation and the confines the ring of rock salt imposed upon him. "Mother fucking goddamnit!" Dean cursed in a single breath as he was bounced backwards away from the invisible barrier, unable to reach out and help his brother while he was on the other side of the circle. "Come on, Sam! Wake up!" he pleaded, searching the confines of his prison and seeing that the motel room phone was out of reach. "I can't help you if you don't break the circle! Come on, Sammy open those eyes of yours. You can do it. You're scaring me here, man. Now cut it out and do as I say." Sam's eyes didn't open but they began to roll around behind closed lids as if he were deep in the middle of REM sleep. Great. Just great. He was probably having another one of his mind-crushing visions right now. Dean really wished he could find out whoever was doing this to his little brother and kick the shit out of them. After that he would do the same to whoever had brought this curse or whatever it was down on his head preventing his help.

"Phone, phone, where's my goddamned phone?" he muttered aloud, patting pockets as best he could with his cuffed hands as he began to pace, glancing over at Sam's still body on the floor every other microsecond or so to make sure he was still breathing. "Just hang on there, Sammy. I'm going to get help, I swear it. Dean was about to cry out in frustration when his phone seemed to appear in his hand as he pulled it out of one of the pockets of his jacket. He had been sure he'd checked that pocket before, but in his frantic searching it was likely he passed over it not knowing. Flipping open his phone and dialing for an ambulance with handcuffed hands almost caused him to drop it in his frantic haste, but he managed, bringing the ringing phone and his bound wrists up to his ear.

"911 operator, what is your emergency?" a woman's too-calm voice spoke into his ear and Dean wanted to shout at her for sounding so vastly unconcerned about his unconscious brother and Dean's inability to help him despite being no more than two feet away from him. But Dean didn't yell. He spoke as calmly as he could for Sam's sake, imparting his whereabouts and the problem to the monotone lady operator was as much presence of mind as he could draw up right now.

He was vaguely aware of someone telling him to stay on the line as he waited for the paramedics to arrive, but his phone fell out of limp hands as Sam started to arch and writhe in pain on the drab beige carpet of the motel room. "Sammy!" Dean shouted in fear, rushing once more headlong into the barrier, desperate to beat his way through it if he had to. He was so close and his brother needed him! "Oh God, Sam please stop," Dean full out begged, offering everything and anything to anyone who would listen that was able to ease his brother's pain. Sam didn't stop, not even close. In fact it was clear he was getting worse by the thin trail of blood that ran slowly from his lips to coat his mouth, the deep red of the blood standing out in a darkly macabre kind of way while Sam still trembled in pain.

"Somebody!" Dean bellowed at the top of his lungs, not hearing sirens yet but unable to stay silent while his brother was in pain either. He didn't take into account what they would find when they entered: one man bloodied and twisting on the floor in obvious pain, the other making no move to help him whatsoever. Not to mention the fact that the second man was wearing handcuffs…

Dean didn't care about any of that. As long as his little brother was helped, his rescuers could think whatever the hell they wanted to. "Just hold on, Sammy. Hold on. Don't let whatever this is control you. If it's a vision, you've had these before. You can handle them. I know you can, Sammy. You're strong. If you weren't strong then you wouldn't be sent the visions in the first place. You can handle them. I know you can, Sammy. Come on man, don't do this to me. Not when I can't help you! Just wake up and break the circle. Just open your eyes, little brother. I can't help you until you break the circle. Help is on the way but they don't know the things I know, do they? They don't know that I've been taking care of you all your life. Because that's what big brother's do. They watch over their little brothers and they don't let anything bad ever happen to them. You're making me break that rule, Sammy. So just cut it the hell out and open your damn eyes!"

But Sam either wouldn't or _couldn't _answer as he fell still once more, the blood running sluggishly down the side of his face as his head fell limply to one side, flush against the carpet.

Dean couldn't breathe. If his brother died here, in this stupid fucking motel room all because he couldn't cross some stupid fucking salt circle he'd never forgive himself. He felt his knees hit the thin carpet and he wondered distantly what was happening. His vision was becoming blurry and his chest was growing tight. What was happening? A loud voice was screaming in his head for him to calm down and take a deep breath—that he was hyperventilating, but that couldn't be right, could it? Besides the pain in his chest and the blurring of his vision, Dean felt just fine. His brother wasn't breathing and he might be dead already, but for some reason Dean found it very hard to focus on that right now. He wasn't worried though. Winchesters didn't die. Well, except for his mom and his dad, so maybe that didn't apply. Well they certainly didn't hyperventilate.

Slowly, Dean became aware at someone shouting at him through the door. He knew he was supposed to be expecting someone but it was too hard to concentrate on why that was. No, it was better just to sit here on the floor with Sammy until whoever it was pounding on the door went away. It wasn't like he could get up and answer it now could he? He was trapped in the circle. He couldn't breathe within the circle but he couldn't get out either. Why wasn't the person knocking going away?

He heard a key turn in a lock and that had him struggling to his feet as best he could. He had to protect Sammy. Everyone who had a key was already in the room. This was an enemy come to get them. Dean didn't have any weapons but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to let them take his little brother without a fight.

Two paramedics and an irritated motel desk clerk rushed into the room, not seeming to notice that Dean was ready to fight them. Then they rushed to Sammy's side and Dean remembered who they were. "You have to break the circle," he pleaded with the one who was coming near him. "Break the circle or I can't help. I can't get to him. I can't get to Sammy."

"Whoa, just calm down there, buddy. My friend is over there helping him. Sammy, you said? Is that his name?"

"Sam. Never Sammy," Dean gasped, trying to push off the paramedic's insisting hands. He didn't want to sit down. He wanted to get to Sammy.

"Alright. Sam it is then. Sam's going to be just fine. We're going to take good care of him." The man looked down once he finally had Dean sitting and seemed to notice the handcuffs for the first time. He shot a wary look to his partner. "Why are you wearing handcuffs, buddy?" he asked, taking a step backwards, unknowingly stepping beyond the circle where Dean couldn't get to him.

"Sam's my brother. It was…it was a game. A joke," Dean tried, desperately trying to get his brain to work again. He just had to keep breathing like the man said. It didn't seem to be working. "Please, you have to break the circle. I can help but not until you break the circle."

"I think this one's having some sort of post traumatic episode," the man murmured to his partner who was checking Sam's vitals. The man looked briefly away from Sam for a moment and nodded. The young man on the floor wasn't responding to stimulus but other than the bloody nose he couldn't find anything outwardly wrong with him.

"We'll take them both to the ER and get them checked out. But I think yours will be alright with just a little O2."

"And the handcuffs?" the first paramedic asked, eying Dean carefully.

The senior paramedic didn't look up from Sam as he spoke. "Leave them for now. If he's telling the truth then they'll sort it out at the hospital. If not, then he won't be going anywhere."

"Please, you don't understand. You have to break the circle. The salt circle!" Dean pleaded, his eyes wide and his breath still coming too-fast as he stood up and moved as close as he could to the two paramedics and Sam.

The first paramedic shook his head in confusion but was getting no help or theories on what was wrong with this guy from his partner. "Alright, just calm down. Breathe, remember? We'll get you some oxygen soon. What's your name?"

"Dean. Please break the circle. Its right there," he gestured with his cuffed hands in desperation.

"What, this?" the paramedic asked, looking at his feet and seeing the thick line of salt there. It seemed to go all the around the bed. Maybe this guy had some sort of OCD where he couldn't cross lines. Whatever. He'd let the docs figure that one out. "Like this?" the paramedic drew a foot through the line, effectively parting it. He wasn't prepared for when the man, Dean, rushed him in a frantic attempt to get to the man on the floor.

"Whoa, Jim! Grab him!" the second paramedic cried out as Dean pushed his way in next to Sam, clearly not in his right state of mind. He didn't take into account that the paramedics were trying to _help_ Sam. He just knew he had to get to him. He couldn't before when Sam needed him, but now that he could he wasn't going to leave his brother's side.

If Dean hadn't been so focussed on his brother, he might have noticed Jim the paramedic sneaking up on him. Winchesters were never snuck up upon. But as it was, the only thing Dean noticed was a sharp pinch in the side of his neck before everything went black and he collapsed at Sam's side.

WWW

Sam opened his eyes to pain, panic and paranoia. First pain as he remembered curling up on the motel room floor in the midst of the most intense _pair_ of visions he'd ever had, then panic as he realised that Dean had been trapped behind the ring of rock salt and thereby unable to help him, and thirdly paranoia as he had no idea where he was or more importantly where Dean was. "Hello?" he called out hoarsely, sitting up in what had to be a hospital bed as he looked around the room for signs of life. "Is anyone there?"

What had to be a nurse bustled in and smiled brightly at Sam. "It's excellent to finally see you awake, Mr. Smith. You gave us all quite a scare last night. You're in the Saint Francis Medical Center."

For a second Sam wondered who she was talking to before he remembered he had used the alias Smith at the motel last night, not feeling very creative as his brother lay unconscious and bound in the back seat of the Impala. Wait, Dean. Where was Dean? And did she say last night? "What time is it and where's my brother?" Sam asked directly, sitting up as best he could in the bed with the nurse fussing over him.

"Your brother?" she asked, opening a folder that had to be his as if searching for answers. "Do you mean the young man you were brought in with? He's your brother?"

"Yes. Dean Smith. Now where is he?" Sam asked again, about ready to get up and search for himself if this woman didn't start giving him some answers and fast.

"Don't speak to me in that tone, young man," the nurse said with a disapproving frown, as if Sam was just caught doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. "You've been in what I should by all rights call a coma for the past 12 hours."

"I was in a coma?" Sam asked with wide eyes, the nurse's words momentarily overriding his need to see his brother.

The nurse nodded and gently "persuaded" him to lie back down on the bed. "We don't really know exactly what it was, Sam. You wouldn't regain consciousness despite our best efforts. I'll admit, you had us stumped. Your doctor should be in to see you shortly. I'm sure he can answer your questions better than I can."

"Please, Nurse…Miller. Just tell me where my brother is. This isn't my first time in the hospital but my brother Dean's usually always there when I wake up."

"I understand, Sam," Nurse Miller said with a kind smile. "Let me see what I can find out." She looked through Sam's file once more and frowned. "Oh. Goodness me. Um, I'm certain a few members of the hospital security will be in to speak with you now that you're awake."

"What? Why?" Sam asked, sitting up straight on the bed again in his worry.

"Well it seems that when the paramedics arrived at your motel, they found your brother in handcuffs."

"Oh. About that, we were just joking around. He's not some sort of criminal or anything," Sam said quickly, hoping that his brother hadn't gotten himself into trouble but knowing better. "Is that why he's not here? Did he get arrested or something?"

The nurse read further and her frown deepened. "It seems as if the paramedics were forced to sedate your brother in the process of helping you. He's also a patient here. His room is down the hall." She continued on before Sam could interrupt. "It seems the doctors didn't think they should remove the handcuffs and risk setting a prisoner free so they had a maintenance man cut them off while they transferred him into bed restraints."

Sam paled dramatically. "You're trying to tell me that Dean is sedated somewhere in this hospital restrained to a bed like some sort of mental patient?"

The nurse opened her mouth likely to make some sort of excuse but Sam cut her off with a raised hand. "It doesn't matter. Just take me to see him. Right now."

"Mr. Smith I don't think you understand the seriousness of your condition. People don't just slip into comas for no apparent reason," the nurse tried.

"I don't care," Sam stated in a determined voice, his jaw set and his eyes hard. "My brother is somewhere in this hospital alone and tied to a bed. If he wakes up without someone…without _me_ to explain things…" he shook his head, unable to imagine it. "Just get me to him. Right now. If you want me to take a wheelchair, fine. Get it. If not, get the hell out of my way because I'm going to find him one way or another."

"At least let me tell Dr. Hydecker that you're awake first," the nurse tried to compromise.

Sam shook his head. "Dean could be awake already. I'm not waiting any longer. If you want to tell this doctor that I'm among the living again, that's fine. Go and do that while I find my brother." Sam threw the covers back off of his annoyingly naked legs, noticing for the first time that he was in a hospital gown and nothing else. It didn't matter. He had to go and see Dean, pride be damned.

Nurse Miller let out a sigh of frustration and stepped back, accepting that this young man wouldn't be swayed into waiting any longer. "Fine. But we're taking a wheelchair and you are _not_ to unhook that IV in your wrist. Is that understood, Mr. Smith?" she asked in her own uncompromising voice.

Sam's brow furrowed as if he wanted to argue, but he nodded. "Just hurry."

WWW

Dean lied very, very still and he breathed. He was calm, he was collected. He was doing everything in his power not to start screaming at someone to notice him; to untie his goddamned wrists. He had noticed them immediately upon waking—hours, days, years go—when he couldn't move. Whoever had transferred him to the bed restraints must have wanted it done the quick and dirty way because the cuffs were still on his wrists above the restraints, the broken segment of chain on each clacking against the restraints as he moved.

He wanted to scream, to yell, to tear this fucking place apart looking for his brother but he knew if he started that, he not only wouldn't be freed of the restraints, but he risked losing control again without the safety of a salt circle separating him from the rest of the innocent world. So he lied still and he breathed and he tried to think about anything but what was happening to his little brother right now.

The thoughts came unbidden anyway, despite his valiant efforts to keep them at bay. What if Sammy was dead? What if he was quickly losing body heat down in the morgue while he was up here tied to a bed? What would he do then? He would be the last remaining Winchester. He would have gotten not only his father but his brother killed as well. Not to mention Cassie… Dean was still unsure as to where he stood blame wise for Cassie's death, but her getting sick right after they had left was definitely a big coincidence and Dean Winchester did not believe in coincidences. Hell, he should have seen this coming. Days after re-entering Sam's life at Stanford, Jess was killed. He knew that Sam had always blamed himself for that; not looking to the obvious. For four years Sam had been fine. He and _Jess_ had been fine. And then with a midnight fight and a plea for help Dean was back in Sam's life and Jessica was dead.

As for his dad, well that was so obviously Dean's fault that it wasn't even worth arguing about. He was dying, his dad was fine. Then all of a sudden he makes a full recovery and his dad was dead. Do the math. And now Sam…Sam, who he had sworn to protect with every fiber of his being the day of his mother's death.

Dean remembered seeing his mother on the ceiling that day. He hadn't told Sam, he didn't even know if his Dad had known, but he had. He had run into little Sammy's room when he heard his father screaming. He had thought something was wrong with his brother and he had run straight in, not thinking about anything but that. He hadn't made it past the door when the heat of the fire had nearly knocked his four year old body flat to the ground. He had run. He had turned his back on his entire family and he had run, wide eyed and terrified back to his room where he would have remained hiding under his blankets if his dad hadn't intercepted him in the hall with an order to take his infant brother outside and not to look back. Dean hadn't needed to look back. He already knew what had happened to his mom even if he didn't fully understand it at the ripe age of four. No, he had did exactly what he was told and saved his brother, somehow promising to himself that he wouldn't ever turn his back on his family again.

But he had. He had turned his back on his brother and now he had no idea whether he lived or had died. Dean didn't even really remember the paramedics coming all that well. He remembered not being able to get past the salt circle and seeing his brother in pain, but that was about it. He supposed that was the reason he was lying here restrained to a bed now. He didn't remember getting out of the handcuffs before the paramedics came so they must have seen him and assumed the worst. At least, that's what he told himself to keep from freaking out and saying to hell with control and letting his darker side take over. Not that he really had any control right now. Being restrained to a hospital bed and alone was about as far from in-control as you could get.

He wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't going to think about how helpless and vulnerable he was lying here with his hands tied wearing nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown. Anything could just come in and kill him and there would be nothing he could do about it. He didn't even have his knife under his pillow like he always did and he missed it like a young child would miss a favourite stuffed animal although Dean would never equate the large hunting knife with a teddy bear.

Dean closed his eyes briefly under the weight of it all, willing his restless mind to be quiet. He was in a hospital. Nothing was going to happen to him here. He nearly scoffed out loud at the utter naïveté of that thought. Being in a hospital hadn't saved his dad. Not even close. It wouldn't save him if some pissed off beastie decided to come after him. But that didn't really worry Dean. As long as he was able to protect his little brother, he would stand up to anything that was put in his way. _If he's even still alive to protect_.

The unbidden thought sucked the air out of his chest and he bit his lip furiously to calm himself the hell down. Sam was fine. He had to be. Because if he wasn't then Dean had lost everything and he couldn't lose everything. He couldn't lose Sam. Not so soon after Dad…after Cassie. He just couldn't. If these visions were killing him—Dean had to believe that it was the vision's fault Sammy had collapsed, something like a stroke just didn't occur to him—then he would find a way to get rid of the visions. He didn't know how but he would find a way. He wasn't just going to sit back and watch Sam suffer, everything else be damned. Whatever was affecting him could wait. They had found ways to control it. He just had to stay calm and when that failed, there were always salt circles. But nothing had been found to help Sammy. Dean was going to change that right now. He wasn't going to think about whether his little brother still lived or not, just on making him better.

"Dean? Are you awake?" Sam's voice intruded on Dean's thoughts, causing him to shift all focus to the door where his brother sat, large as life despite being in a wheelchair pushed by a matronly nurse with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah, little brother. I'm awake," Dean murmured as coolly as he could, trying not to betray how utterly relieved he was to see that Sam was alright.

Sam saw the clarity of his brother's eyes and figured that he had been awake far longer than his easy response led him to believe. "Why didn't you call for someone?" he asked, trying very hard not to demand, taking control of the wheelchair from the nurse and wheeling himself to his brother's side to undo the restraints.

"I didn't want to get upset," Dean said pointedly, meeting Sam's eyes so that there could be no question as to what he meant.

Sam frowned but nodded and continued what he was doing anyway. He wasn't going to leave his brother restrained like this no matter what the risks might be. "Why did they restrain you in the first place?" Sam asked, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see that Nurse Miller had run out of him, likely to fetch either hospital security or a doctor; perhaps both. Sam didn't care.

"I don't really remember," Dean admitted with some hesitation after using his newly freed right hand to scratch his nose, the broken cuff rattling as his hand moved.

"You don't remember?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, not fully believing it.

"Look, it doesn't matter what happened to me, Sammy. What the hell happened to you? One minute you're talking and the next you're on the floor where I couldn't get to you."

Sam froze at Dean's words at the opposite side of the bed, his hands poised to release Dean's left wrist. He _couldn't get to him._ The salt circle. Dean had been trapped in the salt circle while he had ridden the vision in a twitching ball of pain on the floor. "God, Dean I'm sorry. To not be able to—"

"It doesn't matter," Dean cut him off succinctly. "Was it another vision?"

Sam accepted the forced change in subject and nodded slowly after double-checking that the nurse hadn't returned with half the hospital's staff in tow. "There were two of them, actually. That was a first." He removed the second restraint from Dean's wrist and watched as Dean made a point of drawing his arms in close to his chest and sitting up in the bed, doing everything physically possible to distance himself from the restraints. Sam wondered if his brother was even aware he was doing it before continuing on. "Two more women are going to die, Dean," he whispered.

"But it's not the demon that's causing them."

"No, I thought about that. Ellen would have called us if Ash had found anything. This was something else, Dean." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to bring up the visions' images once more. "The first…a woman, she had red hair. Someone killed her, Dean. Someone just…sucked the life out of her."

"A vamp?" Dean asked, remembering the two that had gotten away back in Montana.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. But I don't think so. I just don't understand it. In all my visions before they've either had to do with the demon or the other children like me, Dean. As far as I can tell these women have nothing to with either. They're just ordinary, Dean." His eyes sought out his brother's and his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap in a helpless gesture. "The second woman was ripped to pieces like the nurse yesterday, Dean." Sam frowned and shook his head as if trying to shake something loose. "The nurse. She…she's alright. We changed it. We saved her."

"What? What do you mean we saved her? We didn't even find out her name," Dean pointed out in confusion, moving in the hospital bed so that he would be closer to his brother if he was needed.

"I don't—I don't know, Dean. Somehow I know she's ok." He looked up, his dark hair falling in his face and turning him into a little boy right before Dean's eyes. "What's happening to me, Dean?"

"I don't know Sam, but what I _do_ know is that we're going to figure it out, ok? Because that's what we do." Dean put every ounce of reassurance he could muster up into the words for Sam's sake. His little brother had to believe that he would do anything and everything in his power to fix this, even if Dean doubted it himself. That was just the way things were.

Sam nodded, choosing to believe his brother's reassurance for now. "The red-head, she was some sort of student. A _college_ student. I saw her going to classes." Sam frowned, trying to replay the vision in his head. "The University of Colorado. That's where she went."

Dean drew back as if Sam had reached over and slapped him. _No. It couldn't be. _

"What? What's wrong, Dean?" Sam asked, not so lost trying to remember the visions that he didn't notice his brother draw back as if struck.

"It's nothing. Just a weird thought. It doesn't matter. Look, are we going to be released any time soon? Because I'd kind of like to get my clothes back. There's no fun in showing off the goods for the ladies if I don't get something in return, know what I mean, little brother?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You need help, Dean," he said with a snorted laugh.

"Yeah well, Cassie certainly always thought so," Dean said with a crooked smile before gesturing with his chin out the door. "Get moving, roller-boy. We've got places to be and for once you're the one with wheels. Find the docs and tell them to write up our ticket out of this place." Dean would go search for the doctor himself but he had a feeling that if he was found randomly wandering the halls by hospital security he'd be locked up again.

Sam let the 'roller-boy' comment pass as Dean reminded him of Cassie's funeral today and he nodded. "We'll talk more about this later." With that he rolled himself out of the room to ensure their release.

TBC

A/N: Whew! Finally! That scene in the motel room simply Would Not End. Lol I hope you liked this. And I hope Dean's reactions in the motel room weren't too OC. I just tried to imagine how _anyone_ would react if a loved one was dying mere feet away from them and not be able to help. Anyway, thanks for reading and please, please review!


	6. Chapter 5

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have!

Also, this is an AU fic post 'Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things.

Rating: Let's just start with M to avoid any problems later. Language, sex, violence, it's all here.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Five

"Do you think I should sue the hospital or something for wrongfully imprisoning me?" Dean asked wryly as he and Sam walked away through the busy hospital lobby, carefully avoiding patients and medical staff alike.

"Just be happy they didn't argue more over the AMA's and leave it be, Dean," Sam advised, walking with a little more care than usual, as if worried that his head would come tumbling off of his shoulders if he made any sudden movements. "As it is, we've got just enough time to go back to the motel, shower and change for the funeral."

"Don't forget about the cuffs," Dean muttered, looking down at the metal bracelets encircling his wrists. "I liked these too, damn it," he muttered, doing everything he could not to dwell on the word _funeral._ He didn't want to find out what happened when he couldn't wallow in denial any longer. Not that he wallowed. That was more of Sam's gig. He stopped in his tracks when Sam wasn't immediately answering him. "Sam? You still have the keys, right? You wouldn't have handcuffed me if you didn't have the keys, would you?"

"What?" Sam murmured, turning his attention away from the bustling lobby for a moment to focus on his brother. He hadn't meant to ignore him, but there was something about the woman walking ahead of them that stuck a chord. Sam had only seen her once or twice in profile as she smiled and acknowledged people as she passed, but still she seemed incredibly familiar. He was aware on some level that Dean was asking him another question or at the very least trying to get his attention, but Sam had to find out who this woman was.

Dean was a second away from grabbing his brother forcibly by the arm and marching his ass straight back into a hospital bed. "Dude, you aren't even listening to me. Sammy where's women's lingerie under his clothes," he mocked, loud enough for a few passer's by to overhear and turn their heads. Dean grinned at them briefly, but that was all the time Sam needed to make his move. "Sam? What the hell?" Dean muttered, seeing his brother move across the busy room as if being reeled in by some invisible line. Then Dean looked up and saw what, or _who_ rather, his little brother was being reeled in by and couldn't fault his brother's actions.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Sam prompted, coming up to stand behind the petite blonde, his brain rushing to spit out words that wouldn't make it sound like he was stalking her.

The woman turned, all attention and smiles. "Yes? May I help you?" her voice was the soothing monotone of someone who has had to ask that question time and time again.

"Yeah, hi. Um, my name's Sam and I was just a patient here and I was wondering—"

"Is this man bothering you?" Dean interrupted with a laugh, having moved to Sam's side so silently and swiftly that Sam started. "Because he's been known to do that without outside intervention. I'm Dean," Dean said with a smile, not offering her his hand because while impolite, it prevented her from seeing the broken handcuff and getting the wrong impression. Man, she was smoking hot. Long wavy blonde hair, rich blue eyes that he could feel himself drowning in, full pouting lips that he just wanted to nibble right here and now… If she had been a little taller—she didn't even come up to Dean's chin—she could have made it as a supermodel without question.

The woman laughed and shook her head. "He wasn't bothering me, really. I'm Amanda. Amanda Nicholas. Is he your brother?" she asked, her voice syrupy and sweet and making Dean tingle in all the right places.

"How'd you guess?" Dean responded before Sam could, giving her one of his 1000 watt smiles. If Dean limited to himself to something as foolish as a type of woman, Miss Amanda Nicholas—he had surreptitiously checked her for a wedding ring—would _definitely _be his.

"Oh I don't know, you both have the same kind of rugged charm about you," she said with a grin, looking them both over and obviously liking what she saw. Although Dean liked to believe her eyes lingered just a bit longer on him.

Sam turned his head slightly to the side while Amanda's focus was on his brother and all but gaped. What the hell was Dean doing? They had just gotten out of the hospital, strike that, they were stuck in the _lobby_ of the hospital, on the way to Cassie's funeral and here Dean was talking some girl up. A girl Sam was talking to first! Not that he was interested in getting into her pants. No, that was all Dean. Sometimes he wondered if his older brother was even human.

"So what do you do, Amanda?" Dean went on, seemingly oblivious to Sam's look but Dean was trained to be far too observant of his surroundings at all times for Sam to believe that. Sam shook his head slightly, deciding that it didn't matter right now. Dean was asking all the questions Sam had wanted to. He had to know if the sinking feeling in his gut was right or not.

"I'm a nurse here at the hospital actually," she said with a smile. "But I'm off duty now if you'd like to grab a coffee or something. Your brother can come too," she said with a smile in Sam's direction and golly gee wiz didn't he feel special to be included.

"Actually, Dean and I have a _funeral_ to attend to," Sam interjected, stressing the word. "But it was nice meeting you." He grabbed ahold of Dean's arm and pulled him out of the hospital before his brother could argue.

"Dude, what the hell? She was totally in to me!" Dean argued once they were through the automatic doors, straining to look back inside to see whether or not Amanda was still there waiting for them.

"She was the nurse in my vision, Dean!" Sam hissed, pulling Dean even further away from the building should anyone accidentally eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, the blood in his body working its way back up to his brain long enough for him to participate in the conversation.

"She was the nurse in my dream! The one who had been saved!" Sam continued in a harsh whisper. "And what the hell is wrong with you? We're going to Cassie's funeral in less than two hours and you're looking to get laid?"

Dean's eyes flashed in anger. "Shut up. You don't know anything about me and Cassie! You wouldn't have even met her if she hadn't called back then so just shut up!"

Sam wanted to argue back, his own gorge rising fast in response to his brother's utter stupidity but his eyes were suddenly drawn to the broken cuffs on Dean's hands and he remembered why they were there in the first place. "Dean, calm down right now." Ok, from the way Dean's jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists at his sides, making that sound like an order probably wasn't the best idea, but at least Dean was still listening to him. "I know you're upset but you _can't_ get mad right now."

"If you want to keep me from getting upset then stop fucking _pissing me off_," Dean growled before closing his eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths.

Sam didn't answer, not wanting to thwart Dean's necessary efforts of doing what he did best; pushing everything to the side and concentrating on nothing but the moment. Knowing that Dean did it was one thing. To watch Dean actually construct the mental walls between him and his emotions was something entirely different.

Dean opened his eyes again and Sam was almost afraid of what he would see. Would his brother look different? Would he seem deader inside at having to block out his emotions? But when Dean looked right at him and Sam saw that there was no change in his brother's eyes whatsoever… That was so much worse. How long had it been since he had seen Dean? _Really_ seen him? How long had it been since his brother had really laughed, not those forced dry chuckles Sam heard every day but real honest to God laughter? He had seen Dean cry on the road after leaving their mother's grave but Dean had recovered himself so quickly and went on with life as if nothing had happened so easily that Sam didn't half wonder if he hadn't imagined it all.

"I'll do my best," Sam blurted suddenly, realising he hadn't responded to Dean's growled comment. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to understand."

"Whatever," Dean murmured, no longer angry because he couldn't afford to be but not all puppies and sunshine either. "We'll talk about this later." There was nothing more to say as they walked side by side to the curb and flagged down a cab to take them back to their motel room.

WWW

The funeral service was a quiet affair, held in a small church filled to the roof with flowers of every kind, their scent clinging to hair and clothes, distracting away from the imagined smell of the young woman in the coffin up front. Dean didn't want to look at her. If he looked at her then the image of her too-still body would forever be superimposed over images of her laughing, of the moments of blissed silence after they had just made love, even of the moments when she was screaming at him. Now all he would remember was death. He didn't even have anything of hers. Not one keepsake of their time together. Hell he didn't even have any pictures. Because what had been the point, really? I mean she was Cassie. She would always be there. Cassie just _was_. Except now she wasn't. She was gone. Dead. And she wasn't ever going to be there for him again. Not ever. His one tie to the outside world besides Sam had been torn asunder; severed without hope or repair. All he had left on this earth was Sam. Only Sam.

"Are you going to go up?" Sam asked, interrupting his brother's silence. Dean didn't have to turn his head and look to know that Sam's brows would be creased in worry, his mouth slightly down turned in a frown. Dean tried to smile but he felt his face would crack into a thousand pieces at the utter wrongness of it here. This wasn't a place of smiles. Cassie would never smile again. Why should he? So he didn't.

"In a minute, Sam," he answered, wanting to shift uncomfortably in his dark suit; wanting Cassie to smooth her hands over the lapels and tell him how wrong it looked on him even more. She had said as much the last time he was in town, telling him that he looked like a man about to head to his own funeral. The words threatened to claw at his sanity now. He should have worn his favourite t-shirt and most comfortable pair of broken-in jeans for her. He shouldn't have worn this…this costume. He had told her the truth and the whole truth almost from the beginning and now here he was at her end sitting in a lie made up of fabric and thread. He wanted to rip the suit off of his body and stride up to her side naked as the day he came screaming; laid bare and honest before her as he should be. He had the presence of mind not to try but God how he wished he hadn't.

It was all lies; all a façade. Dean Winchester no longer existed. Perhaps he never had. He was all smoky glass and mirrors, reflecting whoever and whatever the world wanted to see, never revealing that there was nothing within. How could a man who lied about his identity as easily as breathing ever truly claim to have a place in this world? He had no address, nothing to call his own except for a few meager possessions and the Impala. He could drop dead here on the spot and the only one who would even mark his passing was Sam. And even Sam would cope. He would live his life. He would go back to school. He would do whatever it was he wanted to do before his older brother came in from the cold and tied him to this life once more.

He had a death certificate and yet still he lived while Cassie was about to be put into the ground. He was legally dead and yet here he sat and breathed while Cassie was an embalmed shell of who she had once been. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair and it was life. Life was cruel and dark and there was nothing waiting for you at the end of it all but more cruelty and darkness. Dean didn't believe in Heaven. What was the point? He didn't believe in a God who would let the world go on like this without caring. If there were a God up there somewhere he must not be paying attention because humanity should have been wiped out long, long ago. There was nothing worth saving anymore. Nothing at all.

"Dean? Are you ok?" Sam whispered, hating to ask but unable to read what his brother was thinking. He had been sitting in utter silence for so long now that Sam half wondered if he was even still awake or worse yet, still breathing.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean murmured without thinking; an instinctual reaction. He was so far from fine that fine didn't even exist in his world any longer. But to Sam he was fine. He was always fine. He didn't know how to be anything else.

"No you're not," Sam whispered back. Why did he always have to argue? Why couldn't he ever just leave him be? Couldn't he see that he was barely holding it together right now without being questioned about how he was feeling every five minutes?

"Fine. Since arguing with you might lead to trying to kill you, I'll just agree. But since there's nothing you can do about it, just leave it be Sammy. Please."

That certainly put an end to Sam's upcoming tirade, something which Dean thought he should be grateful for, but it was hard to feel anything but loss right now so he wasn't entirely sure. "Do you want me to come up with you?"

No. He didn't want to go up there at all. He wanted to run screaming from this place; he wanted to give in to all the fears and terrors that the hunter in him never allowed him to feel. He wanted to pinch himself and wake up in the cheapest of motel rooms and have this all be a nightmare. He wanted his father sitting here with him telling him that everything was going to be alright. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. But he wasn't going to get; not any of it. Not ever again. Cassie was dad. His dad was dead. What else was there to think about? It didn't really matter, anyway. It was all moot. He'd never expected to see the age of thirty. Not when he had truly understood what his life was. No matter how quick or skilled he was, there would always be something out there quicker and more skilled than he was. And all it would take was one mistake, one slip-up and he'd be dead. It didn't worry him. It never had. It was just his lot in life. _But why did it have to be Cassie's? What had she done to deserve this? Any of this?_

"Dean?" Sam repeated, even going so far as to lay a hand of sympathy on Dean's shoulder to get his full attention. He frowned when his brother flinched away under his touch.

"No, it's fine. I'll go by myself." He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to say once he got up there, but he knew he wouldn't be able to say anything at all with Sam hovering at his shoulder like he expected him to crack and bleed all over the church marble at any second. "You can go up if you want to before or after me though, you knew her too."

Sam nodded. "Alright. I'll wait here for now, ok?" he prompted, trying to get his brother to get up and go to Cassie's coffin while trying to be as subtle as he could about it. From the complete lack of expression on Dean's face throughout the entire service, Sam didn't think that it had really sunk in for Dean yet. Although with Dean, it was never easy to tell.

Dean inclined his head in a non-response, clearly not listening to Sam any longer. His eyes were fixed at the front of the church, where Cassie lay trapped in a wooden box surrounded by flowers so people here wouldn't notice that she wasn't breathing. He just wanted this all to be a dream. He wanted Cassie to sit up in the coffin with an 'Aha, I got you!' and a smile bright enough to power a city for a year. But it didn't matter what Dean wanted. It never did.

Taking a breath, he rose to his feet and made his way to the aisle, self-consciously smoothing his suit as he walked. It still felt like a lie, but if he had to endure it then at least he could look presentable. He hoped Cassie would appreciate that. His steps were slow and measured as he grew closer and closer to the coffin and more and more Dean just wanted to turn tail and run from this place, never looking back. But while Dean Winchester was many things, a coward didn't rank among them.

Finally seeing Cassie up close nearly sent him to his knees. He had seen death and corpses before, more times than he could count, but seeing someone you actually _knew_ after the morticians were through with them was something entirely different. He hadn't let the bastards have his dad. No, he and Sam had wrapped, salted and burned their father's body before any death profiteer even had a chance to find out that there was a new corpse in town to profit from. No attempts had been made by anyone to make their dad look anything different than what he was: a corpse. Not so with Cassie. Her face was done up in more makeup than she ever would have worn in life, attempting to bring life back to the lifeless. Her skin, which had been so rich and beautiful in life was now grey and washed out, as if someone had taken a brush and de-saturated her while leaving the rest of the world alone. Not that Dean saw the world in colour anymore. No, his world was just as dull and grey as Cassie's was now.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Cassie," he whispered, conscious of the other mourners surrounding him. He wasn't going to be overheard and he _wasn't_ going to make a scene. Mrs. Robinson had surely seen him come up, but giving her a quick glance only showed Dean that she was too lost in her own grief to worry about anything else right now. Dean would leave her to it, not knowing what he'd say to explain himself anyway even if he tried. "I don't understand why you didn't call me; why you didn't tell me that you were sick, but I don't blame you for it. You didn't think we'd work out and it seems as if you were right. But I would have _tried_, Cassie. But you didn't even ask." He let out a soft bitter laugh. "Maybe you just knew something I didn't. Maybe you saw what Sam refuses to: that I'm just not meant to settle down and have the picket fence life. But that doesn't matter now, does it? Because you're gone and I'm left alone. Again. But I don't blame you. I don't blame you for anything." He turned to leave, having said all he cared to, before hesitating and turning to address her corpse once more. "If you ever decide to come back, to haunt this world for whatever reason, know that I won't let anyone else that does what I do touch you. I'll salt and burn your body myself, Cassie. Because I know you wouldn't want that. I know that you would want to be at rest. Be at peace, Cassie."

Sam watched his brother return, his face utterly free of expression or grief, and he desperately wanted to sit Dean down and force him to talk about what he was going through right now but Sam couldn't. Doing something like that would be akin to poking a wounded adult grizzly with a stick. There were some things you just _left alone_. Dean certainly fell under that category for the time being.

"Let's go," Dean announced, coming to stand at Sam's side and making no move to reclaim his seat in the pew. "We've got to go back to Colorado, right? Well there's no better time than the present."

Sam wanted to cry foul, citing his extreme need for sleep and rest after spending a night in the hospital, but he didn't. How could he argue that he was tired and wanted to stay in town one more night when there was a woman in danger? They had gotten lucky with the nurse—something he and Dean still hadn't talked about—but Sam wasn't naïve enough to believe that if they just buried their heads under the sand everything would be ok. "Alright," he agreed instead, following his brother's lead for the time being because he honestly didn't know what else to do.

WWW

The drive back to Colorado had been uneventful; the miles stretched out behind them like broken dreams and scattered memories. Dean was silent, his eyes focused on the unending stretch of highway, never once saying what he was thinking or how he was feeling and Sam never asking.

The car was silent for perhaps the first time in recent memory, Dean willingly embracing the lack of music of any kind. The lightning guitars and the throbbing base notes would have sounded garish and out of place to his ears so there was nothing but quiet. Never before had Sam missed his brother's instant sing-along at the top of his lungs with some pulsing Metallica song, never before had he missed his brother incessant jokes and insults. The Dean who was sitting beside him was not his brother. He was an approximation; a collection of all the obvious parts of who Dean was without anything that lay underneath the surface. When Dean _had_ spoke, and it had been hours ago now, his voice was bright and shiny and lacking any depth to it whatsoever. Sam just wanted to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him until he came back again, like trying to right a broken figure in the middle of a snow globe. It was a futile effort.

"Would you have told me about Cassie if you had gotten the call first instead of me?" Sam asked suddenly, shattering the silence beyond recognition. He winced as Dean startled and reflexively swerved the car over the median just far enough for images of their beaten and broken bodies splayed out on the hood of the Impala after a head-on collision with a semi truck to pass before his eyes. But Dean righted the car in seconds and glared at him while not actually turning his head to look.

Dean didn't pretend not to know what Sam was getting at. He just didn't answer, desperately clinging to the silence. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't even want to _think_ about this. He just wanted to keep driving and never ever stop.

But once the question was past his brother's lips and floating around in the confines of the car like a trapped spirit, it had to be answered. Sam wouldn't just let it go. It wasn't in his nature.

"I don't know and I don't want to talk about it so just leave it be, Sam," Dean growled, his voice sounding strange and wrong to his own ears after so many hours of quiet.

But Sam wouldn't leave it be. He would pick and pick and pick until Dean was covered in blood and screaming just to be left alone; that he didn't _want_ to talk about his feelings or worries or fears. But Sam couldn't see that. He could only see that his big brother in pain and that talking about it would make everything better. Dean didn't know where Sam had gotten this notion from. Jess, maybe. Because the Winchester men certainly weren't ones to share and care. When their dad had ever spoken of what had happened to their mother, it was always the facts and _never ever_ what he had been feeling at the time. Not that Dean had thought their dad was uncaring, he simply knew how to shut up about things he didn't want to talk about. Sam had learned that lesson too, and well, but the same rules obviously didn't apply to Dean. And he hated his brother a little for that. And the hate in turn shamed him and forced him to answer Sam's question truthfully, everything else be damned.

"No. I wouldn't have told you. Alright? I wouldn't have even gone back to Cape Giradeau," Dean admitted, his words coming hot through gritted teeth as he fought the killing anger down. God, he needed a drink. He needed a bar full of drinks and lungs full of the scent of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarettes. He needed to hit something or someone but that was verboten. Getting angry meant doing a lot more than simply busting a few heads in a friendly bar fight. Getting angry meant losing control and possibly caving someone's skull in. Dean could see it right now. The blood, red and hot and thick covering his hands as he watched the life fade out of someone's eyes. God, he wanted it—

Sam flew forward in his seat; one hand braced instinctively against the dash as Dean slammed on the breaks and pulled over to the side of the road. "Dean, what the—" before the question could be asked, Dean unbuckled his seat belt and pushed open the car door, getting out and walking with forced calm around the car to the side of the road where he braced his hands on his knees and hunched over, gagging and spitting on the pathetic grass that lined the highway. Sam's heart beat a frantic staccato in his chest as he rushed to follow, needing to know what the hell was going on and if his brother was alright.

"Get back in the car, right now, Sammy!" Dean shouted in a hoarse voice, rubbing the back of his hand over his mouth and taking a few deep breaths to push the remaining contents of his stomach back down where they belonged. Never before had he felt such a powerfully upwelling of bloodlust. He wanted to hurt, to kill, to maim and destroy and he wanted it _now_. And he didn't care if the victims were human or not. He just wanted blood and by the gallons. _Get a fucking hold of yourself before you kill someone, Dean. Just push it all away. It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist…_

Sam watched in wide-eyed horror as Dean seemed to fight with himself, having done just what he said by returning to the car without question. He had initially wanted to argue, but something in the hunch of Dean's shoulders and the desperateness of his voice had him jumping to as if he were the good little soldier he always accused Dean of being. But that didn't mean he wasn't worried. Hell yes, he was worried. In less than two days he had been forced to knock his brother out, tie him up and trap him in a salt circle—something that shouldn't have been able to hold him, not now and not ever. And they still had no clue whatsoever as to what was wrong. Dean claimed that it was something that had affected _him_, without a ghost or demon possessing him, but how could Sam know that Dean wasn't being forced to say that? But the holy water and the Christo didn't work, so maybe Dean was telling the truth? One way or another, he had to find a way to fix this. And soon.

Dean straightened after a few more deep breaths, feeling able finally to go back to the car without wanting to reach over and tear out his brother's throat. That he'd felt any such inclinations still bothered him, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it and they couldn't just stay parked on the side of the road forever.

"You ok?" Sam ventured carefully as Dean settled himself back behind the wheel and buckled his seatbelt.

Dean nodded. "I'm the Zen master, remember?" The pathetic attempt at humour fell like a lead weight dropped from an airplane.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sam asked, hating to but needing further reassurance that his brother was alright. They were all either of them had left now.

"I'm alright, Sam. Stop asking. It's all lollypops and candy canes from here on out." The Impala's throaty roar drowned anything else that might have been said.

WWW

The motel was just as cheap and grimy as it had been two days ago when they had stayed in it last, smelling of piss, sex and alcohol, but beggars couldn't be choosers and they had stayed in far worse rooms than this. The manager didn't even blink to see them back again after so short a period, leaving Dean to believe that he didn't remember them. Normally, this might have pissed him off—he didn't want to think of himself as the forgettable type—but right now it was a blessing. He didn't want to be noticed or remarked upon. He just wanted to be left alone.

"You said this Anne worked the night shift?" Sam asked needlessly as Dean had already told him twice. Sam was probably just searching for something to say.

"Yeah," Dean murmured, saying nothing further but looking up to the garish light of day with tired eyes. He had been driving all night and now it was a new day that didn't look any more promising than the last one had. He had wanted to beat the clock; wanted to get back here to Bolder with time enough to beat the information out of the monster that called herself Anne if necessary, but wanted more just to be able to get really good and angry without having to worry about killing someone in the process.

"Well the University of Colorado student in my vision wasn't killed until after dark so we might as well catch a few hours' rest while we don't have anything else to do," Sam offered with a shrug, wondering if his brother would accept. Whatever energy he had gained since leaving Colorado the first time seemed to have been forcibly yanked out of him on the drive back. Dean looked drawn and pale and Sam was getting tired of the monotone answers he received whenever he asked a question.

"Do you know anything more about the second victim yet?" Dean asked, surprising Sam as he showed the first hint of real interest in the case since they had left Cape Girardeau.

Sam shook his head, wishing he had more answers. "No. Nothing. Just that she was ripped to pieces, Dean. I don't even know her name or what did it."

"Werewolf?"

"Maybe," Sam allowed, frowning as he tried to draw more information out of the jumbled collection of images he had received in the two-for-one visions. "I don't know. But what I really don't understand is why I'm having visions of them in the first place. I mean, as far as I can tell none of them have any…abilities like mine, they don't live in our old house, nothing. It doesn't make any sense."

"You'll figure it out, Sam. You always do," Dean murmured as they entered the motel room—different only in location from the last one, not decoration—and dropped their bags as they went. The ease in which Dean believed that, as if there could be no question, filled Sam with a reassurance that he should have been giving Dean right now, not accepting. "I'm going to take a shower." Dean didn't wait around for a response; he simply disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

TBC

A/N: I hope everyone's still enjoying this. I know the drama has pretty much overtaken any action thus far, but believe me, that will most certainly change in the next chapter as we find out more on what's affecting Dean and the cause of Sam's visions. Until then, thanks so much for reading and please, please a million times please, review.


	7. Chapter 6

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. Thank you so much to those of you who already have! You guys rock!!

Rating: Still M because this chapter is definitely full of sex, naughty language and violence. And for those of you inclined, you might catch the tiniest bit of Wincest although it was by no means intentional. That's just the way this chapter went.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Six

Dean stepped into the shower and let the near scalding water cascade over his bowed head as he fought for a scrap of the control he normally found so easy to attain. He closed his eyes under the spray and waited for the hot water to do its job. God, he was tense, and in more ways than one. The bloodlust that had grabbed ahold of him so mercilessly before had finally faded, leaving good old fashioned regular lust behind in its place. He couldn't remember the last time he had wanted so badly to just go out and _get laid._ He tried to ignore the throbbing response in his groin at those words, thinking suddenly that maybe he should have opted for a cold shower instead of a hot one.

_Well I suppose being horny is better than being homicidal,_ he thought to himself with a dry laugh, turning to lean against the wall beneath the showerhead, watching the water pass before his eyes and through his fingers as he held out a hand in the hot spray. Steam filled the room and for some reason that just made him hornier, he didn't question it at this point, and he desperately wished he had a beautiful young sorority girl in here to share the hot water with. After all, wasn't it nice to share?

Dean groaned, thankful that the sound was lost in the roar of the water. He didn't want Sam thinking he was in here doing what he was _so_ considering doing. He banged his head against the wall a few times in frustration. It didn't really help make his now heavy erection go away, but it made him feel a little better. Dean had never seen the point in masturbation. Why use your own hand when there were so many willing women in this world? He just had to go out and find one; _now_.

He wasn't really concerned that his lust as of late—this was far from the first time he had dropped everything to go out and get laid—seemed more demanding than suggestive. What did he care if all of a sudden he felt the desire to go out and get some? It wasn't as if he wasn't getting something out of the deal as well, and there were only so many hours in the day he could spend with his little brother before he started climbing the walls.

Hmm…speaking of Sammy, Dean highly doubted that his going out would meet with Sam's approval. But that didn't matter. Sam had to sleep sometime and the day wasn't even halfway through yet. He would just sneak out once Sam was asleep and return before he woke up. It had worked before and it would work now. All Dean had to do was to hold out until then. He briefly considered taking the cold shower after all, but somehow he knew the only thing that would help was the warmth of a woman's touch. No, he would just have to go out in full salute beneath his towel—he noticed too late that he hadn't actually brought a clean change of clothes with him into the bathroom—and hope his brother didn't notice he was walking funny.

He turned off the water after making sure to rinse all the soap and shampoo away and stepped dripping out of the shower into a cloud of steam, reaching for the cleanest looking towel and wrapping it around his waist tightly. He wiped the water from his face and took a breath, flinching as the cool air of the other room rushed in as he opened the door. Sam was sitting at the small table against the wall, his face bathed in the whitish-blue light of the laptop. Dean didn't want to ask, he didn't want to do anything but grab a pair of clothes, knock his brother out cold and go bar-hopping in the middle of the day, but curiosity always had gotten the best of him. "What are you doing? I thought you wanted to sleep?"

Sam looked up briefly as if to make sure he was actually there speaking to him before looking back to the computer screen. "I'm trying to find out anything I can about the women in my visions." He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand across his face in a weary gesture. "But seeing as I don't know their names or where they're from, I don't have a whole lot to go on."

"Have you searched for similar deaths?" Dean asked, turning his back to Sam and pulling his duffle bag up to his bed and digging through it for a pair of clothes that didn't smell too musty.

"Yeah, actually," Sam murmured, stretching his arms above his shoulders and cracking his neck. God, he was tired. Sleeping in the Impala was far from restful. "But I haven't found anything yet. No mysterious deaths, nothing."

"Well maybe they've just started. Maybe this is something new for a change," Dean murmured, sniffing shirts as he went. Man he needed to do laundry.

"Yeah, maybe. But it doesn't feel right, you know? Nothing about this feels right," Sam muttered turning to see what Dean was doing. "Dude, when'd you get the tattoo?" he asked suddenly, spotting the black ink at the base of Dean's spine just above the towel. "You never told me you got a tattoo."

"Wait, what? What are you talking about? I never got a tattoo," Dean muttered in confusion, turning to face Sam again and thereby unintentionally hiding the tattoo from Sam's view.

Sam shook his head and rose from his seat, walking over to his brother who was looking at him as if he were insane. "Turn around, Dean."

"Why?" Dean asked, wary now. "If this is some kind of trick to get me to turn my back so you can attack me with magic marker or something, I am _so_ kicking your ass."

"Just do it," Sam said with a roll of his eyes, filing the marker idea away for later when they both weren't so tired and cranky. Dean grumbled once more but did as Sam directed, turning his head over his shoulder in a vain attempt to see what Sam was seeing. Sam reached out a finger and traced the tattoo, frowning as Dean flinched. "Sorry," Sam murmured. "Well it's not new. It would be scabbed over if you had just got it. What does it mean?"

"You're kidding me, right? I really have a tattoo back there? At the base of my spine where it's all…girlish and dainty?" Dean asked with a disgusted frown, causing Sam to laugh.

"Yeah, it's really there. Girlish and dainty and everything. I take it you don't remember getting it?"

"Hell no. If I was going to get a tattoo it'd be something cool and badass on my shoulder or something. Like the Metallica ninja star or the BOC cross of questioning. That'd rock. What'd you say it was again?" He strained his neck further as if he could somehow see it just by stretching enough. "How am I even supposed to see it? No wonder I didn't notice it before. You'd have to be a fucking giraffe to see back there."

"I don't know what it is; just some kind of meaningless symbol in black." Sam snickered. "There's probably some girl out there right now with a matching one she doesn't remember getting either. Only hers actually looks like it belongs there."

"Shut up," Dean growled, moving a hand to feel at his back as if he could feel upraised skin. "This sucks. She better have been hot because this was _so_ not my idea." He heard Sam moving around behind him and turned his head over his shoulder to look just in time to see Sam take a picture of the damned thing with his phone. "Hey! Bitch!"

"Jerk," Sam responded as if on cue, smirking as he looked at the new picture on his phone. "Hey at least this way you'll get to see it and I'll have this moment saved forever for posterity."

"Whatever," Dean muttered, having no interest in looking at the picture right now whatsoever. If he was really curious later he could have whatever girl he managed to hook up with tonight describe it to him afterwards. The shock of finding out he'd been inked and he didn't remember it hadn't diminished his arousal a single iota. In fact, if he was being truly honest with himself—something he wasn't often liable to do—he was even _more_ aroused after feeling Sam's finger trace the apparent tattoo. Associating his _brother_ and feelings of arousal should have been enough to turn him off from sex for a good _long_ time but damned if he wasn't still at attention and ready to go. That should have disturbed him more than it did.

"As fun as this is and despite the fact that it's still the middle of the day, I'm going to bed," Sam announced with a jaw-cracking yawn. He wanted to stay up longer and do more to figure out who the two women from his visions were but the words on the screen had long ago started to blur. He was beat. "And you should do the same," he pointed out needlessly, still mindful of his brother's pinched features and dark circled eyes. Dean just nodded and Sam undressed as he walked; his entire focus now on the bed. Things like hygiene could wait until he was more awake.

Dean was relieved to find he had no trouble going about his business while Sam got ready for bed. He would have been more than a little worried to find he couldn't turn away from watching his brother undress. As it turned out, it was just horny and in a tactile mood and touch, _any_ touch, Sam's notwithstanding, was enough to make him shiver. He just wanted to be touched, caressed, licked, kissed and fucked and by God if he didn't get out of here soon he was going to kill someone. Never before had he had to wait so long once the demanding arousal took over. Usually he just bid his brother a fond farewell and went straight to business but with this whole possession/not possession thing, Sam was being entirely too unreasonable for his own good. Dean was fine. He wasn't mad or upset, just horny. And hell, it wasn't as if he was looking for a weekend in the country or anything. He just wanted a hard drink and a hard fuck and not necessarily in that order. But now he was stuck sitting up with a raging hard-on waiting for his brother to fall deep enough asleep that he wouldn't wake up when Dean left to go play.

WWW

Minutes slipped by like hours as Dean lie in bed trying to determine if Sam was really asleep yet or not. He checked his watch for what had to be the fiftieth time since he had lain down and stifled a groan of frustration. He could have been sleeping; he was tired and could use the rest, but the knowledge that there was a beautiful woman out there with a spot just for him between her thighs was enough to keep him awake for hours if not days at this point. _Ok that's it. I'm going now whether Sam's asleep or not. And if he wakes up and makes a fuss, screw him. Well, maybe not literally. Although…no, No, NO. Wrong. Bad. _Illegal Dean got up out of bed as quickly and as quietly as he could before his sanity could deteriorate further. _Ok, I've just got to get the hell out of here. All this waiting is beginning to mess with my head._

He moved with all the stealth he had ever learned in his 27 years on this earth, getting dressed in muted light of day that crept in through the cheap polyester curtains over the one dirty window. His jeans were tight and uncomfortable but he reassured his aching body that if things went as they were supposed to and fortunately usually did; he wouldn't be wearing them long. He quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed his car keys and wallet. The roar of the Impala would surely wake Sam up as he was leaving but Dean was far from caring. Even if Sam did wake up, it wasn't as if he could stop him now and God help him if he tried. He didn't want to hurt his brother, not really, but there were some things you just did _not _interfere with. With this in mind, he quietly made his way out of the motel room, his brother never once stirring from his sleep, and out into the bright light of day.

WWW

There was just something about bars that from the moment you stepped in, time _stopped_. It could be noon or three in the morning; it didn't matter because things always stayed the same. You had the same dimly lit and smoke filled atmosphere at any time of day or night, the same lost souls chasing the bottoms of their glasses. The only difference was the people. There were just certain kinds that only came out at night: the ne'er-do-wells and the freaks, the addicts and the tough guys just looking for a reason to beat up on someone else than themselves for awhile. The middle of the afternoon told an entirely different story. The clientele—if they could be given such a fancy-sounding name—was made up of the sad, pathetic alcoholics who wouldn't or likely _couldn't_ wait until dark to down glass after glass of their chosen poison, and the people like him who were just looking for a bit of fun in the between hours to take the edge off. He had no illusions about what types of women might fill the latter category and he didn't care.

The bar really was called Joe's and it wasn't just a trivial appellation in an attempt to draw in the more nostalgic crowd. No, the owner and bartender really was named Joe, and Dean could see him standing at his post eyeing the newcomer in his bar carefully. Dean didn't mind the scrutiny, understanding that this was Joe's domain and castle and he had the right and in fact _duty_ to repel all troublemakers. Dean put on his most innocent smile and withstood the once-over without flinching. He wasn't here to make trouble, not really. The bloodlust still coursed through his veins but it was secondary to actual lust now. Joe nodded after a long moment, granting Dean a pass to be in his bar as long as the status he had been granted didn't change. Dean was all too happy to oblige. He sat down at the bar and ordered a shot of Jack straight up, not looking to get drunk but needing something to ease away some of the mess of the past few days that had accumulated in his brain. He wasn't here to get drunk or maudlin and mourn his lost love; he was here to go home with a complete stranger for hours of anonymous sex.

Joe returned with his drink and Dean swallowed a few small mouthfuls of the burning liquid as his eyes roamed the bar for a suitable candidate to his lust. He didn't have to look far. At this time of the day the bar was sparsely populated and every newcomer to pass through the doors earned some kind of notice, whether it be vague glances from the drunks before they turned back to their glasses or the lingering glance of a beautiful woman, something which Dean was earning himself right now in spades.

He knew what women saw in him; he had been with enough who were willing to tell to know what they liked and what they didn't—his eyes and his mouth were among the favourite answers. He didn't toss back the rest of his drink as he moved off of the stool to walk toward her, not wanting to give the false impression that he needed any sort of courage—liquid or otherwise—to talk to her. She was maybe an inch above five feet from his estimate of her seated form, tops, with wavy brown hair and deep eyes to match. She was also probably at least a decade older than he was but that far from mattered.

He also noticed that she seemed to be toying with an apple martini so he was relieved that she didn't fall into the first category of people just looking to get drunk. The day was looking up. "I'm Dean," he announced smoothly, coming to sit at the bar beside her—she had been just around the L curve of the long bar, sitting alone and watching him. "I'd offer to buy you a drink but I can see you're not very interested in that one."

"Cindy," she responded with an appraising look as she leaned forward on delicate arms on the bar. "So which are you?" she asked point-blank.

"Excuse me?" Dean asked, momentarily thrown but recovering quickly. She was wearing an emerald green top that seemed to bring out the red highlights in her hair and a pair of dark jeans. Dean was glad to see she wasn't too dressed up. People dressed to the nines in places like this were either hookers or looking for something they were never going to find.

"Are you one of the drunks in here just looking dull the oh-so-terrible pain for awhile like most of he poor saps in here or are you looking for something else?" Her eyes were clear as she asked, her cheeks betraying no sign of blush.

"Well, this is my first drink since arriving and I've no intention whatsoever in getting drunk in the middle of the day. Does that answer your question?" His eyes locked on hers, making it clear what he wanted.

She smiled wryly and turned a little in her seat. "Let's dispose of the pretense, shall we? I'm not really here to chat; I just want to get laid. I'm divorced and I haven't had a man look at me the way you are right now in more time than I care to admit. So are you interested or am I just wasting my time?"

Dean wasn't the least fazed by this question. He had long ago learned to accept that women could be every bit as horny and demanding as men could be. They were just better at hiding it until they saw something they wanted. Dean was more than happy to be that something. "I've been called many things but a 'waste of time' has never been one of them," he drawled, picking up one of her almost ridiculously small hands and laying a gentle kiss on it while never leaving her eyes. "After you," he offered, rising to stand beside her after she had reclaimed her hand, an amused little smile on her face. She was more than happy to lead the way.

WWW

If he had been hard pressed to remember what her apartment had looked like, all he would have been able to come up with was that it was neat and professional with expensive knickknacks spread around to be looked at but not touched. Unlike its owner.

Her hair smelled of a curious mixture of cinnamon and roses that made Dean's breath come even faster than it already was. He let his fingers curl in it as they backed into what he assumed was her bedroom, their mouths frantically kissing and suckling on whatever bit of naked skin they could reach without taking away too much attention to the necessity of walking without falling over. They made it to the bedroom without incident though but it was Cindy who took the initiative while Dean was attacking the buttons of her coat.

Dean grunted as he was shoved forcefully back onto the bed, wincing as hilt of the knife tucked into his belt beneath his jacket where it was out of sight dug into his spine. He moved to right the situation but Cindy's hand on his chest and a naughty smile on her lips stopped him in his tracks. "I don't think so, lover boy," she drawled, her voice thick and sultry with the promise of sex. "This is _my _bed in _my_ apartment. Therefore we're going to play by _my_ rules. But don't worry. You'll get what you want. We'll both get what we want."

"Oh really?" Dean asked, one eyebrow arched in challenge. He liked a woman who wasn't afraid to take charge now and again, but he wasn't really in the mood for games.

"Really," she assured him, straddling his lean hips on the bed, the combination of denim on denim chafing as she willfully ground against him. "And for now, I want you to watch."

"To watch?" he asked, hoping to hell he hadn't mistakenly found himself in the midst of some kind of twisted three-way with her ex husband yet somehow as the thought passed his mind he found he really didn't care. As long as he got what he wanted in the end he would be happy.

"That's right, Dean. I like the feeling of men's eyes on me. I like making your mouth water and your pulse quicken; I like arousing you on _my_ terms. Understand?"

Dean understood. Hell, it hadn't been the most outrageous thing ever requested of him during before or after sex. Although there was this one time with a feather and a pair of handcuffs—

"I _need_ to know you understand, Dean," she purred, her coat dropping to the floor in a puddle of wool at her feet before her fingers moved to the first button of her blouse and stopped while waiting for his answer.

"I understand, Cindy. Completely," he agreed with a grin and a wicked glint in his eye. If she wanted to strip for him then by all means. He sure as hell wasn't going to argue with a free show before the main event.

"Good. Then you won't argue when I tell you to take your shirt off," she said with an impish smile.

That startled a dry laugh out of him as he sat up on the bed, taking off his over shirt first and throwing it across the room before pulling his undershirt over his head, trying not to flinch as the cold steel of the knife hilt came into contact with his bare skin. Now, what to do with the knife…

"If you're worried that I'm going to freak out or something when I see it, don't be," Cindy said with a small half-smile as she watched him closely, seemingly reading his thoughts. "It's not exactly like we were keeping our hands to ourselves before and I do know what a knife feels like."

Dean eyed her carefully and gave a little shrug before pulling the sheathed hunting knife from his belt and wrapping it in its shirt. The sucker was around 15 inches long all told from tip to hilt and yet Cindy didn't look the slightest bit concerned. "I have 4 older brothers," she informed him with a wry grin. "They made sure I learned how to take care of myself." Her eyes lingered on his bare chest as he removed his boots and socks so that he wouldn't be troubled with them later. He noticed that she had done the same. Great minds and all that. "Good," she said once he had lied back against the totally unnecessary stack of pillows on the bed, waiting—for now—for further demands. There were none. Cindy just allowed him to lie back and enjoy the show.

Dean had to admit, she had talent. It wasn't easy to pull of a strip tease in jeans when sooner or later you had to stop and take them off but she managed pretty damn well. Dean didn't care if he was the first man she'd ever done this for or the thousandth. This wasn't about caring or love, just lust and desire. He had never given a last name and she hadn't either. Neither of them expected to see each other tomorrow and that was just fine. Casual, purely unconditional sex had to be one of man's best inventions. But the striptease was through now, leaving her standing before him wearing nothing but a naughty smile, leaving Dean feeling horribly overdressed. He didn't wait to be told, he undid his jeans and pulled them down over his hips, finally easing the pressure on his throbbing groin. He was about to remove his underwear as well when Cindy's hand stopped him, drawing out a hissed gasp as she gently squeezed him through his boxers, the naughty little minx. Apparently she was set to drive him insane _before_ they actually had sex rather than during.

"Not so fast, cowboy," she purred. "We've got all day." She leaned back on her heels, bearing all for him. "That is, unless you'd rather we make this quick." She shrugged. She wasn't here for foreplay, she was here to be fucked and she knew it was the same for him.

"We've got all day to take things slow after," Dean growled low in his throat as he sat up before her, capturing her narrow waist in his hands and his mouth descending upon her breasts. She arched back and moaned, her fingers blindly tugging at the band of his underwear. He obliged her, letting her remove the last obstacle that separated them without complaint. Her breathy request for a condom had him gesturing to his fallen jeans by the side of the bed for his back pocket. It was always good to be prepared. She rolled it on him with the ease of long practice and it was barely seconds later before they both got what they wanted.

The sex was everything he'd longed for over these past few painful hours, the initial warmth of a woman's most intimate embrace threatening to overwhelm him. And still it wasn't enough. They moved together as one, her fingers leaving gouges on his shoulders and back and his mouth leaving deep purple marks on her neck and breasts in return. It was rough, it was hard and there was no way it could have been called anything but fucking. Thrusting deep within her and having her hips meet his every time released him in ways all of Sam's forced chick-flick moments never could. The sight and taste of sweat collecting between her breasts was enough in itself to make him forget even his own name for awhile. This was what he wanted; this is what he _needed._ The fire in his veins _demanded_ this and he was all too wiling to obey.

She was crying out for more and he was all too happy to give it, holding her even closer still so that she was practically pushing him over backwards. He was giving it to her deep and hard and still it wasn't enough. He wanted _more_. And by God, he was going to get it. If he was hurting her now she gave no sign; not that he would have had the presence of mind to notice at this point. He just grabbed her hips and held on, desperate for his own release and let the rest of the world go to hell.

He wasn't usually this uncaring when it came to sex. He wasn't usually so blind to whatever woman he happened to be fucking's needs. He wasn't a complete bastard. He might leave them in the morning but by God he left them feeling _good_. That wasn't so now. This _should_ have worried him; he should have considered this as another sign of his oh-so-annoying possession or whatever the hell it was that he seemed have an unquenchable need for sex, but when _hadn't_ he had that? When hadn't he spent every free moment between hunts looking to get laid? He couldn't remember a time and yet it didn't seem like this. Not that he really cared what it seemed like. No, these thoughts never really occurred to him; only the lust. Nothing but the lust mattered. As long as that was fed, everything else would just take care of itself.

They had had sex for a few more hours after that until finally, _finally_ the beast in him that longed for and demanded the lust was sated.

"I don't know who you are or where you're from, but if you're ever in town again please don't hesitate to stop by," Cindy breathed from her sprawled position horizontal across the bed. "Look at you. I'm lying here not even able to hold my head up for more than a minute and here you are getting dressed like you've got energy to burn." She laughed and even that sounded weary. "You can let yourself out, right? I'm just going to…sleep, for a month."

Dean laughed at that, honestly feeling better than he had in days. Not since Anne the waitress. Maybe there was just something about Colorado women. He finished getting dressed and bid Cindy a fond farewell, chuckling to himself and shaking his head when she didn't respond. It seemed as if she were already asleep. Dean was quiet on his way out, needing to get back to the motel and Sam before his absence was noticed.

WWW

Apparently Dean's luck had run out in finding Cindy. Sam was awake and pacing the room when he opened the door. "Where the hell have you been?" Sam demanded, causing Dean to wince. He hadn't even gotten the door closed behind him yet and already the accusations started flying his way.

"Chill, dude. I just went out for a little while. That's all," Dean said with a trace of defensiveness as he dropped his jacket to a free chair as he walked past Sam.

"I was going to ask where but I can guess. You smell like a fucking whorehouse," Sam muttered in disgust.

"Fucking whorehouse," Dean repeated. "That's funny, Sammy."

"Are you denying it?"

"Well there was fucking involved but she wasn't a whore and she had an apartment, not a house," Dean answered without shame whatsoever. Why the hell did Sam even deserve an explanation anyway? It was his life.

"You even get a last name this time or was it business as usual?" Sam shot back, giving his brother the full weight of his disapproving scowl.

Dean whirled and stood face to face with his brother, not even caring about the height difference for once. He knew he could take him. He always could. "Fuck you, Sam. You're not my mother, my father or my keeper. What I choose to do with _my_ life is my business, not yours."

"Oh it's not? So when you go all psycho out there and waste somebody just because they say the wrong word or spill beer on your boots, what then, Dean? Is it my problem then?" There was no rational thought going into goading his brother on like this but Sam was tired, cranky and his brother was being an inconsiderate ass.

"Nothing fucking happened!" Dean yelled back, his breath hot and tinted with the vaguest smell of whiskey like a half-remembered memory. "No one got killed! I had one fucking drink and a few hours of sex and that's all!"

"Fine," Sam agreed thinly. "It's your life, right? You can do whatever the hell you want, right? And damn the consequences. Sure, your _girlfriend_ was put into the ground only hours ago but far be it from Dean Winchester to let that get in the way of his _whoring._"

Dean's entire being went very still and very quiet before the almost whispered words, "Sam I swear to God if you don't shut up right now—"

"What's the matter, Dean? Hit a little too close to the truth?" The words just kept coming out of his mouth. A part of Sam was screaming at him to shut the hell up; to stop antagonizing his brother, but he was too damn angry to listen. What his brother had gone out and done was monumentally stupid and he had to be made to understand—the thought wasn't even fully completed before Sam found himself shoved hard enough against a wall to make him grunt and the cheap art to shake in its frames, Dean's long hunting knife pressed hard against his throat.

The anger vanished as if had never existed, cold terror taking its place without effort. "Dean?" he attempted to swallow and he felt the sting of the sharp blade a hot trickle of what had to be his blood running down his throat. "Dean, put the knife down, alright? You don't want to do this." Sam supposed he should consider himself lucky that he was still alive at this point…

"Don't I?" Dean asked in a steely voice, his eyes glittering emeralds as he stared him down and Sam swore he could actually see the murder in them.

"N-No, Dean," Sam stuttered, the knife drawing a hairsbreadth closer. He could feel another hot trickle of his blood creep its way down his throat. He needed to calm Dean down _now_ before Dean fucking _beheaded_ him with that thing. "We're brothers, Dean. You and me. We're Winchesters. We don't turn weapons on each other."

Dean laughed and what made it the scariest sound Sam had heard in awhile was the fact that it sounded like the first real laugh he had heard out his brother's mouth in years. "Oh really? That's funny, Sammy. That really is. See, you _shot_ me and you sure as hell would have shot Dad too if I hadn't asked you not to. So I guess that whole, 'don't turn a weapon on family' crap only applies to people who aren't you. Am I right?"

"Dean, please. I'm sorry."

"Oh you're sorry. Well isn't that just great. Sammy's sorry. What are you sorry for, Sammy? Sorry for making me pick up after your lazy ass all these years? Sorry for all the scars I've gotten standing between you and trouble? Tell me, Sam. What exactly are you sorry for?"

"This." The knee he sent to Dean's groin earned him a stinging shallow cut from the knife as Dean went down, but Sam didn't stop and count his blessings, instead all-out running to grab the bag of rock salt from his bag and quickly surrounding his brother. It wasn't the neatest circle he had ever done, but it was whole and hopefully still kept his brother from trying to kill him.

"You little bastard. I'm going to fucking gut you for that," Dean hissed, sitting up in the tight confines of the circle Sam had outlined around his body. Any further threats he might have made fell silent as he closed his eyes to the nausea of being forced to count the salt taking the fight out of him quickly.

"Yeah well, I don't plan on getting in that circle with you so you might have a hard time with that," Sam muttered, wandering briefly off to the bathroom to get a look at his throat and to get a towel to staunch the bleeding. It didn't look deep, and Dean's knife was sharp enough that the cut was clean. It just stung like a motherfucker.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice called from the other room. "Sammy, please." Sam placed a towel against his throat and returned to the other room to see what Dean wanted. He found his brother huddled now right where he left him, his eyes shut tight and his hands gripped across his stomach. "I'll do whatever you want. You can tie me to the fucking bed or handcuff me to the radiator if you want. Just please, please don't leave me in this fucking circle. I'm sorry."

Sam leaned forward and noticed that his brother seemed to be mumbling numbers under his breath between each word. "Jesus, Dean. Alright, ok? I'll let you out." Hearing his brother sound so desperate was enough to have him drawing a foot through the salt circle almost instinctively. Whatever he could do to make Dean stop sounding like that would be done without hesitation.

He flinched, expecting another attack as Dean rushed out of the circle, but his brother moved past him into the bathroom where Sam could hear him retching up the remnants of their last meal into the toilet. Sam winced in sympathy and followed carefully behind, finding his brother finished but resting his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet. "You ok?" he asked after a long moment when his brother made no attempt to move.

Dean slowly shook his head and Sam knew it was a stupid question. "What if it never stops, Sam? What if there is no cure?"

"Don't say that. Whatever this is, whatever's happening to you, we're _going_ to fix it." He leaned against the doorframe and sighed. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I'm sorry, Dean. It was _way_ out of line."

"It's alright," Dean muttered, his voice dull and weary. "I shouldn't have gone out like that without at least letting you know. Not now. But I just had to get out for awhile, you know? It's what I do, Sammy. I go out, I drink, I play pool and I get laid. Today I just wanted to get laid."

"Yeah well, I just vainly wish that I didn't know for sure that you _had._ Seriously dude, you reek," Sam murmured wryly, hoping to at least get a glimmer of a smile if not a real one. No such luck.

"Are you going to need stitches? I don't exactly trust myself with a needle to your throat right now so it'll have to be a hospital but if you need them, you should go."

"No, Dean, I'm fine. It's not deep, just messy. I'm sure it looks worse than it actually is." He removed the towel and delicately probed the cut with his free hand. "See? It's already stopped bleeding. I'm fine. How about you? Did you get any sleep whatsoever?" He crouched down beside his brother to get a better look at him.

"No, actually. Not a wink," Dean admitted, not really up to lying to his brother on top of everything right now. He lifted his head from the rim of the toilet and leaned back against the wall, the nausea having finally passed for the most part. Sam just blinked at him. "What? What's wrong?"

"Dude, you look like you've been sleeping for days. _Again._" He rose to his feet with a frown, eying Dean warily.

"What? What do you mean? Sammy, don't look at me like that. Among other things, you're giving me a crick in my neck," Dean complained, having to tilt his head back to compensate for his brother's full height. Sam offered him a hand up and he gratefully accepted, his world titling to the side a little before he gained his feet under him again. "Clearly you've figured something out. Well? Tell me, Sammy."

Sam frowned and walked back into the main room, Dean following close behind but making a point to avoid the broken salt circle on the ground. While it had lost its power on him, it still brought about feelings of sympathetic nausea as he remembered what being trapped in it felt like. "Yeah, but I'm not totally sure yet, Dean."

"But you have some kind of hunch, right? Come on, I know that look. You've definitely harnessed your inner research geek, now spill."

"You're not going to like it," Sam murmured, sitting on the bed and looking up at Dean with sad eyes, as if willing to do anything to make the thoughts he was currently having go away. "_I _don't like it."

"You're starting to freak me out a little here, Sammy. Just say whatever it is you have to say and get it over with."

"When you came back from…the waitress, Anne, how did you feel?"

Dean blinked at him. "What? You're asking about my past sexual exploits now?"

"Just answer the question, Dean. Please. After you left her, how did you feel?"

"Uh…good, I guess. Great actually. Best sex I'd had in a long time."

"How long?"

Dean's mouth opened and closed. Sure, he was more than willing to share tales of his conquests when Sam cared less but now that he was asking? "I don't know, awhile I guess. Before Dad. We haven't exactly had much time for R&R if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded briefly, taking this in before continuing his little question and answer session. "And now? How do you feel now?"

"What are you trying to say, Sammy?" Dean asked with a frown.

"Don't tell me you don't feel energized. As if you could run a mile easy and still come back to spar with me _and_ kick my ass afterwards?"

Dean felt himself nodding and knew, somehow that that answer just lost him all the points. "Sam? What the hell? What are you getting—no. No. No, no, no, _hell _no," Dean denied, beginning to pace back and forth across the room as his brother's line of questioning began to make sense.

"It fits, Dean," Sam said quietly. "The anger, the way salt affects where holy water and Christo don't," he gestured with a hand, "the way you have enough energy to pace right now when I still feel like sleeping for a month."

"Jesus motherfucking Christ, Sammy," Dean breathed, looking at his brother with wide, terrified eyes. "Just say it. Say out loud what you think you've got on me. I need to hear it from your own lips."

"I think you're an incubus, Dean," Sam said in as strong a voice he could manage right now, wanting desperately to _any_ other explanation than that. "I don't know how it happened or when, but it happened, Dean."

"Fuck," Dean breathed, his hands clutching his chest as he fought to hear what Sam was saying. "When you say it _out loud_ like that." His pacing suddenly came to a dead stop and he turned to his brother, his face suddenly free of all the colour he might have gained from Cindy. "Jesus. I'm killing them, Sammy. I'm _killing_ them."

TBC

A/N: Well there you have it. Once piece of the big puzzle is finally reveled. Yes, I am evil. I hope you liked. Please review.


	8. Chapter 7

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric "SOON" Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: I would have posted this sooner but I couldn't get it to upload! Grr Arrgh. Anyway, enjoy and please review:-D

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Seven

"…_I'm killing them, Sammy. I'm killing them."_

"We don't know that, Dean," Sam tried to reassure him, knowing how fake it sounded in his own ears but not knowing what else to say. What _could_ one say at a time like this? There wasn't exactly a handbook on how to deal with finding out your older brother is an incubus.

Dean laughed coldly, moving to stand before Sam, his eyes hard. "Tell me, Sammy. The women in your visions. What did they look like? The University of Colorado student, do you remember?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said carefully. "But I haven't been able to figure out who she is yet. I've been looking."

"Tell me, Sam. Did she have a mole right here beneath her right eye?" Dean demonstrated, pointing to a place just beneath his right eye. "How about her height? Was she short? Barely reaching five foot?"

Sam hesitated before nodding. Everything Dean was saying was true down to the last detail. If he didn't know better, and God how he wished he didn't, he might have suspected Dean of having visions of his own.

"That was Anne. The lovely young waitress slash budding young engineer that I had sex with the other night; the one we were going to see tonight. It's probably a waste of time now. She's likely dead already after spending a night with me." He began pacing again, his face a mask of self-loathing and disgust. "As for the second girl, the brunette, I'd say it's a safe bet that she's Cindy, who I just came from. Both were alive with I left them. Neither was…ripped to pieces like in your vision. At least, not that I remember anyway."

Sam swallowed instinctively, his mouth dry as Dean's words set in. "I've been having visions of _you_; of what you were doing, all along."

"So it would seem," Dean muttered, sounding a little _too_ calm considering what he had just figured out. Although, Sam had no idea how he would react to such knowledge either so who's to say Dean wasn't just dealing the best he could?

"What about the nurse? Somehow she…"

"Escaped me?" Dean interjected bitterly. "Think about it, Sam. I wanted to go out last night and you wouldn't let me. You put me in that goddamned circle and I couldn't leave. Chances are if I had gone out that night instead I would have met up with her. Come on, you saw the two of us together in the hospital Sammy. I would have gone home with her in a heartbeat and what's worse is that she would have offered in the first place. Christ, I should come with warning labels. 'Dean Winchester: Look but do not touch and certainly do not fuck unless you want to lose your life.'"

Sam watched as his paced further, wishing he knew what the hell to say to him that wouldn't end up sounding trite or trivial. "Do you know how it happened? I mean, obviously it's happened recently—"

"Why? Because you've only just started having visions of me? Bullshit, Sammy. What about Cassie? Jesus, what about Cassie. What if I killed her, Sammy? I mean you said it yourself; the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with her. She just kept getting sicker and sicker until she fucking died. Well I _slept_ with her, Sam. Right before she got fucking sick. Me, the fucking _incubus._" Admitting it out loud made everything so much worse, as if the accusation couldn't _possibly_ be real as long as he didn't admit to it.

Dean just kept pacing only now he was laughing and it was far from a happy sound. "You know what the best part of this is, Sammy? You know what just takes the cake?" Sam found himself shaking his head, almost afraid to speak aloud. "Throughout all of this, the one thought that I can't get out of my head; the one thought that's louder than the others is that 'Dad's going to fucking kill me when he finds out.' Isn't that hilarious Sam? I mean Dad's _dead_ and here I am worried about him putting a gun to his sex-demon-of-a-son's head and pulling the trigger."

"Dean, don't say that," Sam whispered in a soft plea, his eyes trying to meet up with Dean's but failing as his brother kept pacing the length of the room.

"Why not? You know it's true as well as I do, Sam. I'm something supernatural and I've _killed._ What more reason would Dad need? Hell, what more reason would _any_ of us need? I'm a murderer, Sam. For real this time. There's no shape shifter around to pin this on this time."

"No. I don't believe that," Sam denied with a firm shake of his head. "You're not a murderer, Dean. Far from it. Do you even realise how many people you've saved in your life? How many times you've saved _me_? Even if you did kill those women, and I'm not saying you did because there is no evidence whatsoever; just a few stupid visions and your hunch, they're not enough to condemn you, Dean. Especially when you didn't even know what you were doing!"

Dean stopped his pacing and stood before him, his mouth half open in a gape. "Are you even listening to yourself, Sam? I swear, you must have been trying to become some kind of hot-shot defense attorney with all the bull you're spewing. 'He's innocent your honour. Why? Well because he's saved people. Oh, and he didn't know he was killing anyone when he did it.' Well I don't buy it, Sam. I'm a…_thing_. Aren't incubuses…incubi? Aren't they types of _demons?_ I've become one of the very things we've hunted all of our lives Sam and I didn't even notice!" His breath was coming fast now, a matched set of red spots colouring his otherwise pale cheeks as his world quickly spun out of control. "I can't deal with this. Hell, I can't even _begin_ to deal with this."

"What are you going to do, Dean?" Sam asked quickly, rising to stand before his brother, half dreading he would have to somehow get between him and the door or worse, the knife. He couldn't imagine what Dean must be going through right now and honest to God, he really didn't want to. To not only lose their dad but Cassie in the same month let alone blame yourself for their deaths…how was Dean even still standing? And that didn't even _touch_ the whole 'guess what, you're an incubus!' topic.

Dean shook his head but didn't answer. He just wanted to run; far and fast until he stopped to find he was in a place where no one knew who or rather _what_ he was and what he had done. He just wanted to leave everyone and everything behind. He wanted to _forget._ But he couldn't forget and he couldn't run. His father had taught him many things in his too-short time on the earth but one of the greatest of these was to stand up and fight; to not turn your back on your demons but to meet them head on. Funny now that the word _demon_ applied even more to him now than it ever had when he had been hunting the damned things.

"Dean? Come on, man. Talk to me. Please. You don't have to go through this alone. For once in your life can't you just sit down and talk to me?" Sam pleaded, desperate to do anything to get his brother to stay and prevent whatever it was that had Dean tensing like that and looking as if all he wanted to do was run. Sam couldn't blame him for that, but he couldn't let him do it either. And he hated himself for that.

"What the hell am I supposed to talk about, Sam? Huh? You tell me and I'll talk," Dean murmured, not turning to look at him, but not moving further away either. "Because if I start talking about all of this on my own…" He took a breath and shook his head, the walls crumbling and shuddering under their own weight but holding out for now.

"Tell me about Cassie, Dean," Sam whispered. The way Dean's face tightened made him wish to hell he hadn't stopped with just that. "I mean, tell me about when you two first met. Back in Ohio."

"Why? What difference could it possibly make now, Sam? She's dead. She's buried back in Missouri next to her father and I swore to her that if she ever came back as a spirit I'd burn and salt her body myself. I'm not going to let anyone else do it, Sam. Only me."

Sam nodded, expecting this. It wasn't the kind of promise he would ever make to Jessica—it wasn't the kind of promise he'd ever _think_ to make to Jessica—but it was a purely Dean thing to consider. He sometimes wondered if Dean knew how to turn the hunter inside off; if he even knew _how_ to live a normal life anymore. Sam himself had never found it difficult, but he supposed that was likely because he had never truly embraced the life like Dean and his father had. "Did you want to stay? Back then, I mean. After you told her what you really did—something I _still_ don't get, by the way—did you want to stay?"

"You didn't tell Jessica what you really did back when you were at Stanford because of the very reason you went there in the first place, Sammy; to get away. You didn't tell her because you didn't want to associate yourself with who you were. You didn't tell her you hunted demons before going to college because you didn't want to admit to _yourself_ that you had. I told Cassie because I liked who I really was and because I wanted her to like me too."

Sam frowned, not liking this sudden insight of Dean's. Although it was something that he had considered after he had accused Dean of spilling the big family secret, it wasn't something he'd ever allowed himself to contemplate. "You're right," he breathed, not liking it but willing to take the hit to keep Dean here and talking about something else than how much he deserved to die. "I didn't want to be a part of this life. Not there, not with Jessica. I didn't even want to believe that it had really happened. I just wanted to be normal."

"The people who want to be normal the most are always the ones that are never going to get it, Sam. They're always the freaks." Dean was still standing near the door but he had stopped his pacing and didn't look quite so ready to bolt anymore. Sam kept talking, just trying to keep him here long enough to figure something else out.

"Yeah, you're probably right but man did I ever _try_. Anything that even _remotely_ seemed normal for me I went for with as much fake cheerfulness and enthusiasm I could muster. Did I ever tell you that I tried out for every sports team Stanford had to offer? Basketball, Football, hell even Fencing. If it was a sport, I signed up. I was a member of more clubs and trying out for more teams in my freshman year than anyone else in my graduating class."

"That doesn't surprise me," Dean murmured. "We may not have had time for sports as kids but that didn't mean that Dad let us slack off."

"Making your two young boys run obstacle course drills until they can do it better than most marines is pretty screwed up Dean, but yeah."

"Hey, at least we were in shape," Dean muttered, not really in the mood to argue with Sam over their Dad's fathering skills right now. "You could outrun practically anything even before you gained those freakishly long legs of yours, Sam."

"You're just jealous because despite everything, your _little_ brother is always, always going to be taller than you."

"Shut up, sasquatch," Dean muttered with the briefest hint of his old sarcasm back.

"Make me, dwarf," Sam teased back, purposefully keeping his voice light and playful, not provocative or antagonistic in the slightest. He didn't want to be responsible for tripping Dean's rage yet again. Speaking of, he really needed to figure out soon just how far his brother could be pushed before the switch from merely pissed off to homicidal was flipped inside his head. Although now didn't seem a good time to try and figure it out.

"Dude, you look like you're about to fall over let alone able to stand and fight me if I came after you," Dean pointed out with a frown, finally turning to look at him. Sam counted it as a bigger victory than actually managing to kick his ass would have been. "But I suppose not all of us can steal someone else's energy every time we have sex, huh?" So much for easy victories but hey, at least he was joking about it.

"I suppose not," Sam murmured in response, not really knowing what else to say to that. "But I still think we should try and find these women, Dean. I mean, you don't _know_ that they're dead and neither do I. Maybe we can still help them. In any case, we can't just ignore them."

"Especially when their deaths are my fault," Dean muttered.

Sam chose to ignore that. "You said it yourself; you didn't mutilate either woman like in my vision either so maybe this is something else."

"You mean the fact that I was able to put an accurate name to the face of the woman in your vision and that I slept with her just before is merely coincidence? What, you think something's following me around and cleaning up after?" Dean asked in an even voice, clearly not believing a word of what he was suggesting.

"That's just it, Dean. We don't _know_ that they're dead. So stop your bitching and moaning and come on," Sam said directly, knowing that such an accusation of weakness was likely to trigger Dean's normal defensiveness and hopefully get him to push this guilt-ridden funk aside for the moment. It was a prick thing to do, especially given how much of a right Dean had to feeling whatever the hell he wanted to right now, but they couldn't just stand around here forever talking about it. So his brother was an incubus. Fine, whatever. His mother and girlfriend had been killed by demons and his father had likely made a deal with a devil to bring his son back to life; his son that had already once cheated death. Their life may be screwed up, but they dealt with it and they would continue dealing with it. Sam would find a way to fix this, no matter what.

Dean stiffened, his feathers clearly ruffled at Sam's insinuations but nodded. "Fine. We'll follow up on my past…conquests, at it were," he muttered. "Whether they be alive or dead." Dean didn't say it aloud but while the pessimist in him was screaming that there was nothing they could do; that they had both been dead from the moment they took him into their beds, the optimist in him was praying fervently that it wasn't too late. If Cassie…God it was hard to think about her, especially now…if Cassie really had died because of him, it hadn't been immediate. She had held on, she had _fought_ for six whole months before finally losing the battle. _One more death to add to the list_. "Bring the rope, Sammy. And the…" he swallowed, "And the salt. We'll have to stop and get some new cuffs since those idiots at the hospital ruined mine."

Sam opened his mouth, whether to argue or agree it didn't matter, because Dean went on before he could say anything, "This is the way it's going to be, Sam. Until I'm either dead and no longer a threat to anyone, or we find a way to change me back to the way I was. No arguments. I'm not killing anyone else. Grab the knife too," he said as an afterthought.

"And if we run into trouble?" Sam asked quietly after a long moment's silence, his jaw clenching and unclenching with Dean's orders but not arguing against them for now. "We do seem to attract it and you'll be unarmed."

"Not completely unarmed. I can just fuck anything that comes my way, right?"

"That's not funny, Dean," Sam said with a frown.

"Come on, it was a little funny. If I can't joke about the fact that I've become a fucking _incubus_, then what can I do, Sammy? Fucking incubus. Get it?"

Sam admittedly didn't have an answer for that but sometimes his brother's whole, 'joke in the face of…well pretty much everything,' attitude really got on his nerves. He knew it was his brother's defense mechanism, knew it was his way of dealing with the horrors he saw every day, but it had never been Sam's and honestly, the times in which Dean joked the most weren't exactly the times that he should be. But damn it, he admired that trait in his brother as well; admired his ability to take whatever crap life dealt him with an oftentimes-dirty joke and a smirk. It might have been a front; a mask to hide whatever he was really feeling beneath the surface, but Sam admired it all the same.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam finally answered; half wishing he could think up a joke of his own to answer his brother's. But he just wasn't in a joking mood right now.

Dean nodded, accepting his brother's stoicism even if he couldn't share it. The second he did, the second he stopped joking and started _really_ dwelling on what had happened to him was when all was lost and he couldn't afford to lose it; not now, not ever.

Sam snagged his shoes and quickly put them on in silence, feeling Dean's eyes on him as he moved. He had gotten dressed earlier the moment he had woken up to discover his brother was no longer sleeping beside him, intending to go out and hunt him down before realizing that not only was Dean gone but he had taken the car too. So he had waited. He hadn't had to wait long.

Getting up from the bed he moved through the room collecting the duffle bag of weapons and rope and setting it on one of the beds before collecting the bag of rock salt and throwing it in per Dean's order, pointedly ignoring the way Dean flinched to see it. Sam had already decided to only use the salt ring again as a last resort. Dean had enough to deal with right now without being forcibly reminded of…what he was by being trapped within a salt ring like the lowest of the things they hunted every day. He then located the knife from where it had fallen from his brother's hand and picked it up, offering it to Dean wordlessly by the hilt. Dean looked at him as if he were insane.

"Are you kidding me, Sammy? You're giving me my knife back after what I almost did to you? And here I always thought you were the smart one," Dean said in exasperation. "I nearly slit your throat!"

"Yes you did. You nearly killed me because I was stupid enough not to follow my own advice for you. I stupidly pushed and pushed until you had no choice but to react and I'm sorry. But that doesn't mean I'm going to continue that stupidity by not trusting you, and worse, not letting you go armed."

"You're crazier than I am," Dean muttered, taking the knife and quickly returning it to the sheath that was still stuck into his pants at the small of his back.

"You think so?" Sam asked, throwing the strap of the duffle over his shoulder as he gestured for Dean to head out the door.

"Definitely," Dean responded in turn, straightening his jacket and over shirt over the knife so it wouldn't be immediately obvious to anyone they might meet that he was armed. "And that's saying a lot."

"Maybe so but I need you watching my back, incubus or not. Oh and since you're mister awake and energized, you get to drive my exhausted ass around town," Sam muttered with a yawn.

"I live to serve," Dean murmured. Anything Sam might have said in response to that was lost in the roar of the Impala's engine.

WWW

"Do you remember where she lived?" Sam asked as he and Dean walked from the little diner in which Anne worked without success. Her boss had said that she hadn't come in to work today and that she hadn't called in sick either. It didn't bode well for Sam's hope that she was still alive for Dean's sake if not merely her own.

Dean nodded. "It's not far from here. We can walk if you feel up to it," he half-teased without even the slightest hint of a smile. It felt so wrong to hear his brother's teasing voice return without the customary smirk to accompany it that Sam very nearly told him not to tease at all. If he wasn't going to actually mean it, then why bother? But he kept his mouth shut, appreciating what it probably took to give at least that much right now with everything weighing on his brother's shoulders. It was just more of his brother's laughing in the face of everything so Sam just left him to it without complaint.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, jerk. Don't think that because I'm tired and you're not that I can't still kick your ass if I wanted to," Sam muttered, stopping to grab the weapons-laden duffle from the car just in case. He didn't ask Dean to carry it and Dean didn't offer. Both of them knew the dangers such a simple act could bring about even if neither of them actually said as much out loud.

"I'm hearing a lot of yapping but I'm not seeing a lot of action, bitch. Now get those long legs of yours moving," Dean responded with what must have been a forced show of his customary sarcasm. "Oh and you get to explain to her why I'm showing up again after a night of sex at her door with another man, my _brother_ no less, if she's still alive."

Sam wished he could get his brother to stop saying things like that; to stop insinuating that there could be no possible way Anne could still be alive after spending the night with him. Now granted, Sam didn't hold out a lot of hope that this wasn't the case either but that didn't mean he was about to say such things out loud. No matter what happened, no matter what they found in Anne's apartment, he knew his brother wasn't a murderer. That had never been in question. Even if they went to find Anne dead in apartment just how Dean had left her, Sam would never ever call his brother a murderer. He knew Dean saw the world in black and white, much like their father once had. If it was supernatural and it killed people, you killed it. No questions asked, no hesitation. There were no _good_ monsters on this earth, no creatures holding out for the hope of being redeemed. It was something he and Dean had constantly argued about. Sam didn't see the world in black and white like Dean did. He had been taught that way, but it had never fully stuck. If the world was black and white then how could they explain werewolves? How could a man or woman be held to blame for the things they did that were out of their control? How could they be called murderers when any murdering they might have done was only when the moon was full and the wolf was in their blood? And how many of those men and women chose to be bitten? How many of them chose to become killers?

But Dean argued that once they were something beyond human, they couldn't be held to humanity's laws. If they killed as a werewolf then they had to die as a werewolf; no questions asked. Sam had always made it a point to avoid wolf hunts growing up, doing everything he could to avoid coming against this very dilemma. He didn't want to think about what Dean had done those four years they had been apart. He didn't want to imagine his brother putting a silver bullet through the head or chest of some pathetic man, woman or God forbid, child, because of something that was out of their control. He didn't want Dean to see himself in those terms now.

"Well are you going to knock or are you going to stand there looking at the thing all day, there Francis?" Dean asked and Sam was startled to see that he was standing before a numbered door, likely Anne's though he couldn't remember hearing his brother say that this was his despite evidence to the contrary. He must have been on some sort of autopilot. The fact that he both somehow understood his brother's directions and followed them without conscious thought both annoyed and mildly frightened him. "Sam? You still with me?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," he muttered, shifting the weapons bag on his shoulder before raising a hand to knock, praying to see a flu-ridden red-headed waitress answer the door, praying somehow that his insinuation that Dean was an incubus was totally unfounded. What proof did they really have anyway besides a few damning visions and some inexplicable energy after having sex? And the fact that he couldn't cross salt lines… Was there a test to see if you were an incubus? Or did you just have to keep sleeping with people to see if the pattern followed? Why wasn't she answering the goddamned door?

Dean stood beside his brother, watching the door and waiting for it to open as Sam was but by no means expecting it to. He knew his brother was probably hoping somehow that Anne would be there, as big as life and twice as beautiful without a scratch on her pretty little head. Dean had seen far too much horror in this world, in this life to hold on to such naïveté. That wasn't to say that he begrudged Sam for having it though. The fact that Sam had held on to even the least of that after all that he had seen; after what had happened to Jessica, was beyond unbelievable and Dean hoped his little brother never lost it. He hoped that Sam never fully embraced this life as he himself had. Now that there was no chance of getting his family back together—it was an impossible thing to do even when the patriarch had still been alive—Dean hoped that Sam would just say to hell with it all and leave one day.

And yet he didn't. He didn't want to live this life alone. He never had. He didn't want to go home at the end of it all and not have anyone to share this with. He talked big, telling Sam not to bring the horror of what they did home with him, but it was inevitable. But what Sam was finally beginning to understand was that having someone to stand beside you—someone who had lived though the same things you had—even if you never spoke about it again, was worth everything. But he couldn't have it both ways. He knew that, most of all. He couldn't want Sam to leave him one day for a life in the suburbs with a beautiful blonde, a picket fence, and two fat, healthy children while never wanting to be left alone in this life. Sam couldn't be a hunter and a lawyer at the same time. He couldn't kill the supernatural for a living and go home to a wife and kids. It would never work and it was useless to bother trying.

So it no longer mattered any longer what Dean wanted because he knew without a doubt, that he'd never get it. One way or another, whether Sam stayed and lost himself to the job like his brother and father had before him, or whether he left it all behind without a second glance, Dean wouldn't get what he wanted. But who the hell did, anymore? He certainly hadn't fucking asked to be an incubus and yet here he was. He didn't want to believe it, and knew that despite the fact that Sam had first brought up the accusation his brother would deny it if given the opportunity, but it rang true and he was damned for that.

"She's not answering, Sam," he pointed out needlessly. And yet from the startled look on his brother's face, maybe he had needed to say it after all.

"Well maybe she's out," Sam tried, the look on his face showing that he knew just how stupid that sounded.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean allowed him. "Step aside, Sammy," he asked, nudging his brother aside and coming to stand before the door. "If she's in there and fine then this will just be one more thing she'll have cause to yell at me for," he muttered before raising a booted foot and kicking the door in. He heard Sam snort in disgust and offered an unapologetic shrug before they entered the quiet apartment together.

"Hello? Miss…" he trailed off with a frown, realising that he had not once heard the young woman's name. "I don't suppose you…nevermind. Of course you didn't," Sam muttered, briefly considering asking Dean if he had gotten Anne's last name but remembering all too quickly that Dean was Dean and that he hardly got the last names of the women he slept with.

"No, I don't know her last name," Dean muttered in response to Sam's unanswered question as they wandered further into the apartment, leaving Sam to momentarily wonder if Dean couldn't read minds now too on top of everything else. God he hoped not. Sam had enough going on in his head right now without Dean poking around every time he felt like it. Not to mention the fact that there were just certain things you _did not share_ with family. "But she didn't offer and I didn't ask so just don't say a word."

Sam wouldn't dream of it. Well, he wouldn't dream of it now. Dean had enough weighing down on him in regards to this girl without being reminded that he very well may have slept with her and killed her without ever even knowing her last name. "I don't think she's here, Dean," Sam pointed out as no one had come to answer their loud calls, not to mention the obvious sound of the front door being kicked in. Why Dean couldn't have waited five more minutes for Sam to collect the landlord and his master key with some made up tale of worry and woe before kicking the door in was beyond him. Well, not completely beyond him. If he had come up alone in front of a locked door with the knowledge that the previous night's paramour might be lying dead or dying right where he had left her, he might have kicked the door down too.

Dean stopped to look at him, disbelief clearly written across his face. "Are you that ready to believe the best of me that you wouldn't look to the obvious here, Sammy?" The question was breathed with a trace of awe. "We haven't even checked the bedroom yet. I think we need to at least make sure she's not lying dead right where I left her before we can breathe easy."

Sam knew his brother was right but how he wished otherwise. Was it selfish to want to cling to denial in whatever manner possible rather than face up to the fact that your brother, the one person you had looked up to your entire life might be a murderer? But Sam had admittedly been raised with more sense and morality than that. He couldn't just turn his back on someone who needed their help (or _had _needed) just because he didn't want to face up to the bitter truths and realities her death might offer. That just wasn't who he was. It was clearly not who Dean was either as he pushed open the bedroom door, subconsciously holding his breath and tensing for what he might encounter behind this door.

The woman who was sprawled naked across the bed might have once laid claim to the title of beautiful, but no such claim could now be applied. Her hair, which in Dean's mind had been her best feature, lay limp and dull an a halo around her face, the vibrancy it had once contained all sucked away. Her eyes, wide and unseeing were glazed and filmy, reflecting nothing of the intelligent young woman that had once lay within them.

Dean's legs were moving of their own volition now; he had all but switched to autopilot the instant he had seen her pale body just as he had left it on the bed. And yet, something was wrong. Something was out of place but he couldn't move his eyes away from her unseeing ones long enough to figure out what it was.

"Jesus," Sam breathed, not knowing what else to say. The amount of blood in the room seemed almost ridiculous for the petite naked women that lay unmoving before him. How could one body contain so much blood? The obvious question wormed its way into his mind without his invitation or approval: _How could Dean do this to someone?_ The young woman, _Anne_, had been practically flayed, her skin peeled back to reveal large sections of muscle and blood and bone. Blood covered every visible surface in the room and Sam had to make a concentrated effort to look away from the body to his own feet, mindful of where he stepped.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded far away and small, as if he were speaking from another room and not a foot to his right. "Tell me I couldn't have done this," he breathed, his green eyes wide and pleading as they met Sam's.

"You couldn't have done this, Dean," Sam said with forced speed, knowing that Dean would seize on any hesitation as a death warrant. "You said she was alive when she left her. You couldn't…you couldn't have done this."

"There was no blood. That's what's wrong; that's what's different," he murmured as if suddenly figuring something out. "She was smiling when I left, Sam. She was _alive_."

"Then it wasn't you. You're not like this, Dean. You…couldn't have done something like this. You're not a killer."

"Yes, I am," Dean said with a flinching wince. "Look at her, Sam. Beyond the blood. She looks like she's been suffering from a fucking wasting disease for years. Her eyes are hollow and her cheeks are sunken in. _I_ did that to her. Whoever…_whatever_ did the rest…if it wasn't me…just…" He shook his head, the words failing him.

"What do you mean if it wasn't you? Of course it wasn't you! Anyone who did something like this would have come home covered in blood, Dean. I met you at the door, remember?" Sam shook his head. "But we don't have time for this. We have to get out of her, Dean. Right now. Someone will notice the kicked in door sooner rather than later and we're standing in the middle of a crime scene."

"It doesn't matter," Dean muttered. "I'll already be their prime suspect even if they won't be able to figure out I managed to fake my own death in St. Louis to come all the way out here to kill a waitress." Sam opened his mouth in question and Dean just looked at him. "DNA, Sammy. I thought you were the smart one. But you're right. We need to go. I need find out if I murdered Cindy too." With that he gave a little shrug and turned away from the cooling corpse of Anne the part-time waitress and prospective mechanical engineer, not looking back.

TBC

A/N: Did Dean slice poor Anne to ribbons? Just how the hell did he become an incubus anyway? What about Sam's visions? Will they end now that Dean knows what's he's doing? And will Dean be able to stop giving in to what he's become? Look for all this and more next time. Until then, please, please review.


	9. Chapter 8

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long to post. Finals week took a big bite out of my creative writing time.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Eight

"The blood was still warm, Sam," Dean whispered, breathing through his mouth to fight down the nausea at seeing the horribly mutilated body of yet another woman he had just slept with. He looked down at his own hands, as if expecting to see blood there, blood that he had somehow missed until now. "But this can't be a coincidence." It was odd how calm his voice sounded, even in his own ears, especially when all he wanted to do was to start screaming and not stop until he was hoarse. "Either I'm somehow doing these things without managing to get a drop of blood on me, unless I cleaned up after…I don't remember…or someone or some_thing _is following me and making a bloody fucking mess of what I leave behind."

"You didn't mutilate those women, Dean," Sam insisted for what seemed like the tenth time as the fled yet another murder scene, this time in the Impala rather than on foot like they had with Anne.

"How do you know?" Dean asked bluntly, turning full in his seat briefly to level a look in Sam's direction before casting his eyes back on the road. "How can you _possibly_ know? You had the visions, Sam. You tell me. Was there anyone else with either of them besides me?"

"No, but that doesn't mean a damn thing, Dean. Can you honestly tell me that you think yourself _capable_ of doing something like that? Of cutting up some poor woman's body after you had just had _sex_ with her?" He shook his head. "I don't believe it, man. I can't. So stop asking me to."

"I didn't tell you why I stopped the car on the side of the road earlier today, did I?" Dean asked abruptly after a moment of silence had passed. He was driving without purpose or direction.

Sam frowned, his brow furrowing. _What is he trying to prove now?_ "When you got sick?" he asked with some amount of hesitation. "I figured it was just, well, a reaction to today, Dean." _Don't try to tell me it was something more than that. Please, Dean. _

"It wasn't that, Sammy," Dean said with a shake of his head at Sam's guess. In truth, he had sort of pushed the whole grieving process to the side after finding out that he was an incubus and a murderer. The one didn't really take any sort of precedent over the other, it was merely a matter of what was important and pressing _now _versus what could be put off and dealt with later.

"Then what, Dean?" Sam asked with more than a little trepidation. He wasn't really a pessimist although by all rights he probably should have been, but for some reason he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that whatever reason Dean was about to give, whatever secret he was going to share was not going to make things better.

Dean frowned, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words to get across what he needed to share with his brother. "I wanted to hurt someone, Sam."

Sam sat for a minute in silence, waiting for something more than that. Nothing came. "Is that all? You wanted to hurt someone? Dean we both know that you don't have the best control over your temper under the best of circumstances let alone now. Wanting to do something doesn't damn you or save you, Dean."

"Damn it, will you just listen to me, Sam? It was more than that, alright? I wanted to _kill_ someone. I wanted to feel their fucking blood on my hands so much that I could practically smell it. So I stopped the car and got the hell out before I decided that it was your blood I wanted. Do you get it now? Bloodlust, Sam. Pure and sharp and God I can feel it now." He clenched the wheel until his knuckles turned white, his jaw set and hard. "It comes out of nowhere, Sam. I don't know why and I don't know if this is just another fun little quirk I have to look forward to now that I've become one of the things we hunt."

"But you were able to stop it, right? You're stopping it now?" Sam asked carefully, making no mention of Dean's continued insistence that he now a _thing_ and less than human. Sam didn't know if that was true, what constituted humanity? Did simply looking human include you in humanity's ranks? It was a little more philosophy than he wanted to get into right now.

"Are you asking me if I still feel the urge to take my hand off of the wheel to reach around to my back to grab the knife that's there to find out just how red your blood is, Sammy?" Dean asked in a far too calm voice, his hands still white knuckled on the wheel.

Sam swallowed. "I suppose I am. Well?"

"I told you not to give me a knife, Sam," Dean whispered through clenched teeth. "I know its back there. I can feel the sheath digging into my spine and I know how it would feel to wrap my hand around the hilt. What I _don't_ know is how it would feel to reach over and slit your throat but God I want to, Sammy. And that scares me more than anything we've ever faced before," he admitted slowly, not taking his eyes off the road or his hands off the wheel for fear of losing the control he was barely holding onto right now. Control was the only thing keeping his brother breathing right now and not another one of Dean's victims. "So don't tell me that you can't possibly believe that I mutilated those women, Sam. Because right now, feeling the way I do right now, I _know_ that I did it even if I don't remember."

"Pull the car over, Dean. Do it. Now," Sam directed in a firm voice, brooking no argument. "Pull the car over or I swear I'll knock you out and you'll likely crash and kill us both not to mention wrecking your precious Impala just after you got it put back together. So do it."

Dean's lips curled in a snarl but he didn't say a word. He didn't argue with Sam's orders instead following them to the letter. This only proved to Sam that his brother had more control over himself that he believed. "Good," Sam praised once Dean had pulled off to the side of the road. "Now, be straight with me Dean. Just how far along has this…bloodlust gotten? Is your first action going to be to go for the knife to try and kill me if you take your hands off of the wheel or is your control better than that? Realise that if you lie it could cost me my life."

Dean swallowed and Sam knew his words had been well chosen. "Don't risk it. Take the knife. Just reach behind me and get it. I can't cut you if I don't have the knife so just take it, Sam." His eyes were staring vacant out across the road as he spoke, his face expressing no outward emotion. Sam wished to hell Dean wasn't so good at turning himself off like that. "I'll just keep my hands on the wheel. Do it, Sam."

Getting the knife hadn't been a problem. Dean's hands never left the wheel. "We need help, Dean," Sam said with a frown. "I can't keep locking you up. We need to find a way to fix this."

"Fine. But for now you're getting the rope out of that bag and you're tying my hands together. I don't care where we go, I don't care if you drive all the way to California and back again, but I don't—I still want to hurt you, Sam. Don't give me the chance." Dean's eyes drifted off of the road now but they didn't meet Sam's, they rested on his stolen knife and didn't move.

Sam frowned and almost asked Dean if he was aware of what he was doing and decided he'd rather not know. "Stay here, Dean," he finally said after reaching over with one hand and taking the key from the ignition. He didn't wait around for Dean to ask him where he was going or what he was doing, he simply got out of the car and closed the door behind him, immediately walking around to the trunk and opening it to chuck the knife in, grabbing the rope and locking it all tightly afterwards. It was only when the weapon was locked up and safe and he was out of Dean's line of sight that he leaned over and took a couple of deep breaths, knowing that he needed to hold it together for Dean's sake. _How the hell is Dean managing this? _He just wanted to scream and break things even without the added emotional fire that being an incubus seemed to bring.

But if he lost control now then what would keep Dean from doing the same? And it was clear that if Dean lost control now…people would die. _Innocent _people. And Sam couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't let that weigh on his brother's conscience. He would do everything in his power so that Dean never had to worry about it even if they never ever found a way to turn him back to the way he was. But they would. They just needed help. He walked back to the car as he thought about this and opened the driver's side door where Dean still sat. "Hold out your hands, Dean. The knife is locked up and you can't get the keys so you might as well just hold out your hands."

Dean turned his head and his eyes darted in the direction of the trunk and back to Sam quickly, as if trying to discern the best way to get his knife back just by looking at him. He then forced his eyes away, biting down hard on his lip until Sam saw a thin stream of blood run down his chin. This lasted for about a second before he all but yanked his hands from the wheel and grudgingly held them out for Sam, his teeth grinding away and causing more blood to spill as he fought with his newfound nature not to go after Sam anyway, knife or not.

"Stop biting your lip and talk to me, Dean," Sam said softly as he made quick work of the rope around his brother's wrist, making sure to tie it tightly, knowing how adept Dean was at escape. "We're going to Bobby's."

"What? Why?" Dean asked warily, as if the reason wasn't immediately obvious. "Tired of dealing with your demon of an older brother? Just want to get rid of me, Sammy?"

"What? No. Don't be an idiot," Sam said with an annoyed frown. "I'm going to him for _help_, Dean. He's the only demon expert we have left." Once they had had their father, Caleb and Pastor Jim. But now they were all dead, their wisdom and guidance lost forever. Just more people that had died from their association to the clearly cursed Winchester family.

"What about the Roadhouse," Dean asked, his tone holding something that Sam couldn't immediately recognise.

"They're not family, Dean. We don't know them like we do Bobby." Sam stood back after Dean's hands were secure and motioned for him to get out of the car.

"I still think we should go, Sam. We're only a state away. Maybe they can offer us some insight that Bobby can't," Dean argued, getting out of the car as Sam directed and standing to face him.

Sam was starting to grow suspicious now. Dean's voice still had that unidentifiable tone in it when he spoke of the Roadhouse… "Why do you want to go to the Roadhouse, Dean?"

"Maybe I just want to say hello," Dean offered, still putting on an innocent front although Sam was no longer buying into it.

Sam opened his mouth to question Dean further when the answer descended upon him like a ton of bricks. _Of course._ _What does the Roadhouse have that Bobby's doesn't? Ellen and Jo; women. _"Would you like to see Ellen and Jo, Dean? Is that why you want to go to the Roadhouse?"

"Of course I do, Sammy. Don't you?" Dean asked, putting on a clearly false front of confusion that Sam saw straight through now that he had figured out Dean's real intentions.

"Not like you do, Dean," Sam said with a disgusted scowl. "Start walking to the other side of the car," he directed.

"What's that supposed to mean, Sammy?" Dean asked, all innocence and confusion as moved around the hood of the car, his bound hands held calmly at his waist as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"Are you honestly going to try and tell me that the only reason you'd rather go to the Roadhouse rather than Bobby's is that you want to fuck both Jo and Ellen if given the chance?"

Dean stopped and turned to him, a wicked grin playing along his lips now that he saw he was caught. "Jo would love to get me between the sheets, you know, Sam. She's been eying me like she just wants to eat me up ever since we first showed up in that place. Far be it from me to deny her her needs, Sam. I'd give her such a thorough seeing to that she'd forget her own name. And her mother, God I'd get that coldhearted bitch in bed just to see if she'd try to boss me around." Sam pushed him backwards against the car and Dean just laughed. "Don't tell me you wanted them first? Well alright. I'm not a total uncaring bastard. I tell you want. We can take both mother and daughter together at the same time. What about that, Sammy? I mean they're both blonde, I bet you could just close your eyes and think of Jessica if that's what it takes to get you off—" Dean probably would have said more but a hard fist to the jaw had a way of ending a conversation in a way words and pleas didn't.

Sam stood over the unconscious form of his brother's body, breathing hard and trying desperately to control his anger long enough to be sure he didn't want to shake his brother awake so that he could just knock him out again. It didn't take long. Seeing a fresh stream of blood pass through his brother's mouth as the new split lip Sam had just given him contended with the bite Dean had done on his own was enough to dissipate his anger quickly. "I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered, crouching down to be closer to his brother's unmoving form. "I shouldn't have hit you. I know you don't mean it." He sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I'm going to get you help. We're going to fix this. We're going to get you better, no matter what it takes."

With this vow he hauled his bleeding and bound brother up by the armpits and wrestled him ungracefully into the car, grateful when he accomplished the task without injuring Dean further. He then made his way back around to the driver's side after making sure Dean was buckled in and started the Impala, determined to get to Bobby's and hopefully get help as fast as he could.

WWW

Dean worked his jaw a few times experimentally, wincing as it cracked. "You hit me, bitch," he muttered, feeling Sam's eyes on him as he raised his bound wrists to rub his aching jaw and split lip. "You could have at least got me something to wipe off the blood. I probably look like a damn messy vampire."

"Check the glove box. And you deserved it," Sam murmured, turning his eyes back to the road. He had hoped that Dean would stay unconscious until they had made it to Bobby's and he had very nearly made it.

Dean scowled then winced at the pain that brought him as he worked the glove box open with his fingers, having a little trouble but managing to get it open without incident. He found napkins within and rubbed at his chin roughly, dried blood flaking off and landing in his lap. It irritated his split and bitten lip and his likely bruised jaw but it gave him something to occupy himself with other than the thoughts of what he had said and done to Sam to make him hit him like that. He likely _had_ deserved it, but he wasn't going to say as much now. And he wasn't going to apologise for something he couldn't control either. Not when he hadn't been doing anything but saying what had been on his mind. He hadn't fucking hurt anyone and yet Sam had hit him.

"I just took you up on your offer," Sam explained further as he felt the heat of Dean's glare.

"What offer?" Dean asked, chucking the used napkins over his shoulder where they took residence upon the rest of a week or so's worth or so of accumulated detritus. It was probably time to clean out the Impala…

"After we left the vampire's nest and Gordon, you told me to hit you. I said I'd take a rain check. That was me taking it," Sam pointed out casually, his eyes never leaving the road. He always seemed to miss the turnoff to Bobby's salvage yard no matter how often he had been there. Sam had pointed this out to Bobby many times; asking how he could afford to run a successful salvage yard when no one could find it, but Bobby had always just given a little shrug in return, saying that he got by. Sam was inclined to believe that Bobby liked being off of the beaten path and not easily found. Not to mention he had made more than a few enemies of the demonic persuasion during his lifetime. "So just suck it up and sit tight. We're almost to Bobby's."

"Do you believe me now?" Dean asked casually, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked in confusion, wondering what his brother was getting at now. He really hoped he was back to his normal annoying self for a little while at least. He didn't really feel like knocking him out again.

"Do you believe me capable of mutilating those women?"

"Dean, listen and listen good. I will _never_ believe you capable of such a thing. Do you understand? No matter how many times you ask me to, no matter how much you try to change my mind. I know you, Dean. Even as an incubus you're still my brother and I _know_ my brother."

Dean frowned and turned his gaze out the window and away from Sam, looking out over the barren scenery but not really seeing it. "You don't know me, Sam. A person can change a hell of a lot in four years. I mean you sure did, why are you so adamant to believe that I haven't?"

"Why are you so adamant to make me believe that you're a murderer, Dean?" Sam turned the question around on him, getting irritated now with Dean's insistence to be blamed for something he _couldn't_ _possibly_ have done.

"Because of the things I've done!" Dean shouted angrily in return before screwing his eyes tightly shut and struggling to get his anger back down to the slowly simmering level instead of the killing rage it was headed towards. "Four years is a long time for people like us, Sam. Do you have any idea the number of hunts I went on in that time? On how many things I killed?"

"Killing in self defense isn't murder, Dean! It's survival," Sam argued, not understanding in the slightest why Dean was so set on making himself out to be a villain; something inhuman.

"And when I tell you that it wasn't self defense? What then, Sam? I'm a _hunter_, Sam. That doesn't mean I sit around and wait for the bad things to come to me. I seek them out and I look for the easiest solution. If that means saving whoever it is afflicted, then so be it. If they can't be saved or if simply killing them is quicker and easier, that's what I'll do. Do you understand? I've killed _people_, Dean. Whether they were possessed or cursed isn't the point. Whether they may or may not have intended to kill other people isn't the point. I _killed_ them, Sam. Why do you think my eyes bled back with Bloody Mary, Sam? Have you even _thought_ about that? I have more deaths on my head than you can possibly imagine."

Sam turned down the lane to Bobby's salvage yard, not missing it for once despite being neck deep in such a conversation with Dean, and immediately slammed on the breaks, going no further. "Fine. Say I believe you, Dean. Say I think you're capable of tearing those innocent women to pieces. What then? What is it that you want me to do? Exorcise you? Can't say I know how to exorcise something that _is_ a demon not possessed by one. Oh, how about the method you said Dad would probably prefer: putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger? We could do it right here in the car if you like. But then again, even if I did kill you, you'd probably come back as a vengeful spirit to haunt my ass because that's just the way our lives work." He paused and frowned thoughtfully. "Do you realise that when you die I'll probably have to salt and burn the car along side of you considering how much of your blood is in this thing. Hell, this car's practically a family member." He turned in his seat and levelled Dean with a piercing stare. "Well? What do you want me to do, Dean? Because clearly I'm supposed to do something."

Dean's hazel eyes flashed once with an emotion too quickly past for Sam to figure out what it was before they grew cold. "I want you to stop believing the best of me, Sam."

"Well that's never going to happen, Dean, so you may as well stop asking for it. And I'm not going to kill you either so don't even consider it." He pulled the keys out of the ignition and moved out of the car before Dean could reply to that.

Dean sat in the car in silence, oddly irritated and surprised when Sam didn't come around to let him out. Sure, he could manage even with his hands tied together but it was the principle of the thing. He didn't sit long however, as he saw Sam start walking for Bobby's house on the edge of the property, not wanting Sam to discus Dean's new…status, as it were and what to do about it without him being their to supervise.

He scrambled to get the door open, finding it more difficult that he had originally anticipated due to his haste, and nudged it shut with his hip before running to catch up with Sam. "Couldn't let you go in there by yourself," he murmured as Sam glanced over his shoulder to look at him as he slowed. "Bobby'd likely come stalking out of the house with a shotgun, holy water and exorcism rites before you got the words 'Hey Bobby, Dean's come down with a slight case of incubus,' out of your mouth."

"That would be what _you_ would say, not me," Sam said wryly. "I would break the news with infinite more care and tact while making sure to place myself between him and the door."

Dean snorted, glad that things between them were back to normal; their earlier conversation of guilt and murder notwithstanding. "I'd like to see you try to stand between Bobby and a demon hunt, Sammy. That man would knock you flat without trying."

"Maybe so," Sam allowed with an easy shrug, knocking his head back a little to fling the hair covering his eyes back behind his ear, mercifully avoiding another one of Dean's 'you need a haircut there, Sammy-the-sheepdog.' He must have still been feeling guilty. "Just do me a favour, Dean."

Dean grunted noncommittally and waited for Sam to continue.

"Don't go into one of your crazy newfound demonic rages and kill Bobby. We're short enough on good research sources as it is." If Sam's eyes hadn't twinkled with mischief while the corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin, Dean might have taken such a request far more seriously than it was given.

"Huh. Well at least you didn't ask me not to sleep with him. But then again, you've probably figured out by now that he's not my type. I go for the baby faced guys with dimples." He batted his long eyelashes at Sam while raising a bound hand to pat his brother's smooth cheek.

Sam pulled away laughing while his face twisted in disgust. "You are a sick, sick man, dude. Come on. Bobby must be inside buried in one of his books otherwise he would have come out to see us by now," Sam murmured as crossed the yard to the small house.

"Yeah, it's not as if he's actually _working_," Dean said with a snorted laugh, knowing that Bobby Singer was definitely a man who set his own hours. "Are you going to knock? I would, but someone tied my hands together," Dean said with a wry grin, having not once asked to be untied. "I'm thinking Bobby's going to think something's up when he sees my new accessories. Either that, or he'll wonder if I haven't turned into some kind of BSDM fanatic, which come to think of it, could actually be sort of fun if one had the right—"

Sam had opened his mouth to stop his brother's tirade but was interrupted by the larger than life form of Rumsfeld, huge and black behind Bobby's door and barking his head off like mad. It wasn't often that they got this close to the highly protective beast, but he was one hell of a compelling reason not to enter the house. "Hey Rumsfeld, what's the matter, buddy?" Sam cooed, crouching down behind the screen door to get eye to eye with the dog. Despite his size and apparent ferociousness, the dog was actually quite loveable and a complete sweetheart to anyone willing to brave his size and attempt to rub his belly. Sam had been glad, for Bobby's sake at least, that the dog had been left relatively unharmed by Meg when she had come calling. But the dog didn't stop barking.

"He's barking at me, Sam," Dean murmured, eying the dog who had at one time jumped up and slobbered all over him every time he came to the door. He had loved that damn dog almost as much as Bobby did and to have it turned against him hurt. "Dogs can sometimes sense the supernatural, right? Well it looks like Rumsfeld here hasn't lost his touch."

"You boys got something on your tail?" Bobby's voice could be heard from behind the door where he appeared as if by magic, his keen eyes scanning the area behind him as his weathered hands gripped the shotgun he held to his chest firmly. "Rumsfeld doesn't bark like that unless there's a damn good reason. He knows better."

"If there's something on our tail, we don't know about it, Bobby," Sam offered, wondering if the thing killing those women—he stubbornly held to the belief that Dean _couldn't _have done it, despite what his brother thought—was behind them or not. It would make sense that it was but Sam hoped and prayed that it wasn't. They had enough to deal with at the moment without a siege and a shootout through into the mix.

"Well then what is this damn mutt barking at…" he trailed off as he looked out through the screen at Sam and Dean. "Get away from him, Sam. That's not your brother." The shotgun was raised and pointed at Dean who raised his bound hands in a futile defense.

"Isn't he great, Sammy? I mean how does he even _do_ that? He just looked at me and he knew." There was awe and humour plain on Dean's face; a convenient mask to the despair that took root within. He had somehow been holding out the slightest inkling of hope that Sam had been wrong about him being an incubus, but with Bobby's reaction it was pretty clear that he was damned and damned good.

"Whoa, Bobby put the gun down," Sam pleaded, holding out his hands but not opening the door for fear of what Rumsfeld would try to do to Dean once released. The damn dog was still barking its head off. "It's still Dean. Something's happened to him. He's been cursed, Bobby. We came to you for help."

"Aren't you going to feed me some crap line about how he's not going to hurt me?" Bobby asked wryly, shaking his head a little with the words. The shotgun never wavered from its target. "Rumsfeld, quiet!" Sam had to give the dog and its master their due; the dog fell into immediate silence at Bobby's side.

"Not really," Sam admitted with a kind of shrug. "Otherwise how would I explain the fact that he's tied up?" He inclined his head at Dean's bound hands while never taking his eyes off of the very upset looking man with the shotgun and the hellhound/mastiff mix at his side. "Now can we please just talk about this civilly without the shotguns?"

"Tell me what you think happened to him and then maybe I'll consider it," Bobby offered unequivocally, the shotgun still not moving.

"Sam thinks I've been turned into an incubus and it's beginning to look more and more like he's hit it right on the nose," Dean offered, his bound hands still up in front of him, his fingers splayed in what he hoped was a non-threatening, clearly innocent and not at all evil manner.

"Huh. That's not one I've heard before. From what I know of incubi and succubi, they're _born_ not cursed to become that way. Either you're lying or you pissed off something pretty damn powerful this time, Dean," Bobby declared, still looking unconvinced.

"It's true, Bobby. We're just looking for a way to fix this," Sam offered, putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice, desperate for Bobby to believe them. They were very nearly out of contacts as it was without this one turning his back on them.

The shotgun finally lowered. "Alright, I believe you. Sam's a much worse liar than you are, Dean," he pointed out with a slight smirk before he leaned the shotgun down against the wall and took a firm hold of Rumsfeld's collar. "I'd get back if I were you, Dean. He seems to have taken a disliking to you and I don't know how well I can hold him if you get too close." Dean nodded and moved far enough out of the way for Bobby to come out of the house and chain his dog up in the yard without too much incident. "Well I haven't got all day," he said as he stood at the front of his house waiting for the Winchester brothers to follow behind. "Come on inside and let's see if we can't sort this thing out." With that, he disappeared into the house leaving Sam and Dean to follow in silence behind him.

TBC

A/N: I hoped you liked the inclusion of Bobby in this chapter. I've never written him before so I hope I did an ok job. Look for the new chapter, and hopefully some answers for the Brothers Winchester soon. Until then, reviews make me happy. And being happy makes me write faster. ;)


	10. Chapter 9

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: What happens when a skirt chaser like Dean is cursed to become an incubus? Will he be able to fight his nature or will he give in to the darkness he now holds within? And how will Sam deal with the consequences?

Author's Note: Sorry this wasn't up sooner! My computer unfortunately crashed and I couldn't get on it to write. No fun, let me tell you. Thank you for your continued patience and I will valiently try to get ahead again in my chapters so I can post more often.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

I am the secret  
I am the sin  
I am the guilty  
I am the thorn within

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Nine

Dean couldn't remember a time when he had felt more like curling up into a ball on the floor and just letting the earth open up to swallow him whole. Not even on the terse and silent ride home with Pastor Jim after he had been picked up at the police station for a DUI. He sat on the couch alone, Sam in a recliner off to the side and Bobby sitting in a borrowed kitchen chair across from him. Both men were eying him as expecting him to grow horns and a forked tongue at any moment. He knew Sam didn't really mean to, but he had no doubt in his mind that every gesture Bobby made towards him was cool and calculated. It was clear they were waiting for him to speak, to tell his story from the beginning. Sam already knew most if not all of the details and could have given the story himself but it was clear he was keeping his silence in preference to Bobby.

Bobby himself didn't even creak in the old wooden kitchen chair as he sat with utter stillness, his arms resting in his lap instead of crossing his chest which would have tied up his hands surely as Dean's were tied up now. Dean had no delusions that Bobby wouldn't have the blade of a very sharp knife to his throat or a gun to his head should he make a single wrong move. Dean wondered briefly if this was what Meg had felt like last year when they had had her tied up in this very house. He had cautiously avoided the devil's trap however, not wanting to find out whether or not it worked on him right now. There were some things that were simply better off not known.

Still Bobby watched him, clearly waiting for something whether it be for Dean to start speaking or for his head to spin full around and pea soup to come spewing out of his mouth, he didn't know. He knew he should probably start speaking, knowing that no one else would do it for him and that he wouldn't be allowed to leave until he did, but for perhaps the first time in his twenty-seven years of life he couldn't think of a thing to say. He just sat there alone in the middle of a musty smelling brown couch wondering how it had come to this. The thing was, he still didn't know. Perhaps that was why he was having such a hard time speaking; he simply didn't have the answers. He had no idea how this had happened to him, how this _could_ have happened to him. Bobby had made it clear before he had even set foot inside the house that he had never once heard of a situation quite like the one Dean found himself in now. This stole his voice away more effectively than one of the Gentlemen.

Aside from a quicker temper and an inability to cross salt lines, there was nothing on the outside to suggest that anything had happened to him. He thought he would have remembered some high-level demon or whatever cursing him for all eternity to be a demon himself. Then again, was he really a demon? He didn't know. He didn't really know anything beyond the fact that he was afflicted with sudden…urges from time to time and he couldn't quite remember if those were new or not. He wanted to ask if there was some way to test for sure whether he really was an incubus or not, but deep within the pit of his stomach he knew no test was needed. He was an incubus. His body knew it but his mind still argued. Just like he argued against how long he had been…afflicted. By the signs it seemed as if this were a recent thing with Anne and Cindy being his first and only victims thus far, but for some reason that didn't sit right with him. He couldn't explain it, but claiming that seemed like claiming a lie as the truth. He just couldn't do it.

He didn't want to believe that he had mutilated those girls either; he wanted to believe Sam's arguments for him. The evidence was pretty compelling that he wasn't guilty but that didn't bring him an ounce of relief. So what if he wasn't mutilating the girls he slept with? That didn't mean that he wasn't killing them beforehand. And that meant that he had some sort of monster on his tail that he had never once caught hide or hair of. No, the knowledge of such innocence brought no comfort with it at all.

He looked up to see Sam fidgeting in his chair against the wall, giving him looks and gestures as if to say 'hurry the hell up, would you? we haven't got all day.' Dean kept his expression fixed and his face free of emotion and opened his mouth to tell his story. "I can't cross salt lines any more." God, admitting this was like dry-swallowing razorblades. Saying such things out loud to Sam was one thing, but to share them with Bobby as well… Truth was agony and agony was truth.

"What happens when you try?" Bobby asked straight up. Clearly he wasn't just going to give Dean encouraging nods without speaking as he confessed his sins. He was definitely going for the jugular.

"It's like the lore of what happens to poltergeists or ghosts when they try. I have to count the grains and I can't. I'm compelled to keep counting and yet each time I do it's as if the numbers are yanked from my head and I can't keep going until I start over from the beginning. This happens over and over again until the circle's eventually broken."

Bobby nodded. "And holy water? Have you tried that?" the question was directed at Sam this time.

Sam nodded, thankfully not wussing out on him with silence as he went on to explain. "I tried it when Dean was unconscious, thinking he was possessed, but it had no effect."

"Well clearly he's not possessed," Bobby said with a frown and a shake of his head. "Your Daddy really should have taught you to tell the difference but he was never any good at it either. Not that he liked being told as much." The room fell silent once more as each man was envisioning their own version of their friend and father. "I take it you didn't try an exorcism ritual then?"

Sam blinked. "Well no. You just said he wasn't possessed. What difference would an exorcism make?" Dean turned from Sam to Bobby, curious to hear the answer, half wishing that they weren't speaking about him as if he weren't in the room and half glad that he wasn't the sole focus of Bobby's interrogation.

"You should never ever take an exorcism lightly but in a situation like this when you don't know exactly what's going on it can't hurt to try, now can it? We'll try one after you've finished telling me everything." His eyes never left Dean as he answered Sam's question.

Dean tried very hard not to blanch at the thought of undergoing an exorcism, how he would react being another one of those things he'd rather not know. He managed to sit without reactions in the chair save for the slightest clenching of his jaw. He didn't bother trying to argue, knowing that he would be outvoted two to one. He took a breath and continued. "I don't know when it started, exactly. I slept with some girl a few nights ago and Sam claimed I looked as if I had slept a month when I came back. The same thing happened the other night with another girl and with the fact that I couldn't cross the salt lines he came up with the idea that I might be an incubus. We went back to locate the girls to find out and they were both dead."

"But we don't think that Dean killed them," Sam was quick to intervene. "He couldn't have. He came back to the motel right after both times and there wasn't a drop of blood on him. Not to mention Cindy's blood was still warm, Dean. It wouldn't have still been warm if you had killed her an hour before hand."

Bobby leaned back in his chair, his eyes unreadable beneath the combined threat of his bushy eyebrows and ever-present hat. "Go on. There's clearly more to this than you're telling me, Dean so just get on with it."

Dean looked as if he wanted to respond to Sam's sudden idea in which he had to be exonerated from all crimes within Sam's mind but he continued his story as Bobby asked. "I think it started more recently than with the two women." He could feel Sam's eyes quickly falling upon him but he didn't turn his gaze away from Bobby. "I can't explain why I feel this way or how I know, I just do."

"What about the salt lines? That's recent, right? Surely you would have noticed something like that before," Bobby offered, showing for the first time since they had been invited into his house that perhaps he was willing to believe the best of Dean rather than the worst, all things considered.

Dean nodded. "As far as I know it's new but I can't be sure. Look, I know it doesn't make a lot of sense. It doesn't make a lot of sense to me either. It's just a feeling."

Bobby seemed to accept this for now. "And the ropes? I take it that Sam didn't put those there just for fun?"

"He wishes," Dean muttered on reflex before frowning and considering Bobby's question. "I don't always have control," he said at last, resolutely not shifting in the couch under the weight of Bobby's stare.

"Damn it, Dean," Bobby said suddenly very nearly causing Dean to start in his seat. "If you expect my help then you've got to be straight with me. Cut the crap. Either tell your story straight without all of this goddamned pussyfooting around or get the hell out of my house."

Dean stared at him, his jaw clenching. "I _am_ telling my story, Bobby," he muttered. "And I'm not goddamned _pussyfooting_ around."

"Well it sure doesn't look that way to me. It looks like you're sitting there waiting for your little brother to tell the story so you can just sit there looking sorry for yourself. Are you a coward, Dean? Is that why you're being such a damn wuss about this? Because that's what you look like. You look like a scared little boy all alone on that couch crying for his Daddy. Isn't that what he looks like, Sam?"

Sam just sat and stared in abject horror at what was happening. What the hell was going on? Was he the only one _not_ possessed or controlled by whatever ghost or demon? What the hell was Bobby _doing_? There was clearly something very wrong going on. "Sure, Bobby," he answered hesitantly, readily agreeing to whatever Bobby said right now because it was clear not saying what the man wanted to hear could be dangerous. Especially as Dean was tied up and unable to offer direct help.

Bobby sneered and nodded, satisfied, turning back to Dean. "You hear that? Even Sammy over there thinks you're a coward, Dean."

The smile that crossed Dean's face was cold and bloodthirsty. "I'm going to rip that glib tongue from your skull, Bobby. You won't be able to scream after that but I swear you'll want to."

Sam was on his feet to put a stop to this because it was clear that Dean had been pushed over the edge, but he wasn't nearly fast enough as Dean launched himself off of the couch towards Bobby, knocking them both to the ground. It seemed as if Bobby had been waiting for such a reaction however, for he flipped Dean off of him with a fluid movement, regaining his feet and pointing the nearby shotgun at Dean's chest before Dean could attack him again.

"Bobby, don't!" Sam breathed frantically, praying he wasn't about to watch his brother take a chest full of buckshot right before his eyes.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean drawled in a sneering voice as he regained his footing, standing before Bobby seemingly without a care in the world for the shotgun aimed at his chest. "He won't shoot. He hasn't got the balls."

Bobby ignored the taunt, not about to play into the demon who was looking back at him with Dean's eyes' game. "There's a bag of salt behind your chair, Sam. Grab it and pour a circle around your brother. I'd force him into the devil's trap on the ceiling but I don't want to have to break it to let him out again. It was a hell of a thing to get it up there in the first place." If Sam was amused by Bobby's smirking pun, he didn't show it. He simply grabbed the bag of rock salt as directed and moved towards his brother, warily eying all three of them: Dean, Bobby and the shotgun.

Sam and Dean shared a look as he opened the bag of salt and it was clear he was no longer looking at his brother. Whatever Bobby's intentions had been—he didn't seemed to be possessed now—whether it be to get Dean to give him a straight answer or to see just how much it took before Dean "lost control," it was clear that they were going to have to deal with this now.

"Do it and I'll peel the skin from your face and rub that salt in the wound," Dean hissed, eying Sam as he started the salt circle coldly. It was clear he wanted to move; not wanting to be a willing prisoner but by Bobby's smug grin it was also clear that the shotgun he held in his hands was loaded not with buckshot but with rock salt. He was fucked either way. "I'm going to kill you both," he growled. "You'll be begging me to end it once I'm through." He snickered wickedly for a moment, causing Sam to frown at the sudden change in mood. "It's a pity you led such a _good_ life, Sammy," he mocked. "You'll likely go to heaven when you die. But you know as well as I do that Heaven's not where Mom and your pretty little Jess are right now. They're in hell, Sam. They're burning and screaming in hell and you'll never see either of them again. Hey, at least she has Dad with her, right? Although I'm not sure how much help _he'll_ be. He was a coward in life and it's clear he'll be a coward in death as well. He's probably just standing by and watching as your pretty little girlfriend is being banged by old Satan himself." Dean just laughed and laughed as Bobby stepped in before Sam could knock his older brother to the floor with a flurry of enraged fists and feet.

Bobby cursed silently under his breath for letting Dean go on for so long. He had forgotten that Sam wasn't as used to demon possessions as he was. He had heard it all before. He had grown immune to the kind of shit that came out of the mouths of the possessed once they got going. It was clear that Sam hadn't developed that yet. "On second thought, forget the circle, Sam. That usually brings him back, right?" He didn't wait for Sam's response, trusting his intuition for the answer. "I don't want him back just yet. I want to have a little chat with this thing. Grab his feet. We're going to put him in the trap. I can always redraw the edge."

Dean hissed and snarled as he was lifted into the air without trouble, thrashing as best he could and spitting out curses and bloody promises of what he'd do to the two men carrying him into the other room. It was to no avail however. He was outnumbered two to one by men bent on seeing him suffer. He would rip the bones from their bodies.

"That's it. He's in," Bobby declared, dropping Dean to the ground beneath the trap with a grunt, pulling Sam out beyond the edge of the circle in case he got the bright idea in his head to stick around and make sure his brother was alright. Bobby admired the trait, but there was a time and place for everything and right now, Dean was the enemy. "Now we find out if this thing will keep him in—" Bobby was cut off by an enraged roar as Dean beat his fists against the invisible barrier the circle provided. Bobby could only stare as the skin of Dean's hands was compressed, as if he really was pushing against a glass wall that only they could pass through. It was good to know he wasn't faking it. On the other hand, it meant…

"Dean's a demon. He's really a demon," Sam whispered in abject horror. "These things, these Devil's Traps, they only work on demons, right? Oh God."

Bobby had never wanted to lie to Sam more than he did right now. He wanted to clap Sam on the shoulder with a shake of his head and assure him that the traps were good for all your supernatural hunting needs. He didn't want to have to tell this kid not even months after his Daddy's death that his brother was now one of the damned as sure as they were standing here watching him. "People don't just _become_ full demons, Sam. It's unnatural and something did this to him. And if something did this to him, then the chances are good that that same something can turn him back."

Sam didn't respond to that, his jaw and eyes hardening in tandem. "Why did you do this? Why did you push him? Was it just to see him break? Is that it? Is that why he's in that fucking thing right now?"

Whoa. Ok, it was clear Sam was upset here, but Bobby wasn't the bad guy. "You brought him to me so I could find out what's wrong with him, Sam. I'm doing my job," he said evenly, not wanting to irritate Sam further but honestly not having time to coddle him over the choices he had made now.

"Your _job,_" Sam growled irritably. "I am so goddamned tired of people justifying the things they do because it's their _job_. You didn't do this for Dean. You did this because Bobby the demon expert wanted to poke and prod at my _brother_ just to see what makes him tick."

"If you don't want my help then just go," Bobby growled in return with a scowl. "You came to _me, _remember? I didn't ask to have your demon of a brother dropped on my goddamned door step. Now you can either shut the hell up and let me do things _my_ way in order to _help_ you, or you can get the hell out."

Sam clenched his jaw and fists in tandem but didn't say a word as he fought to catch ahold of his breath.

"Looks like little Sammy doesn't like being given orders," Dean mocked from inside the trap. "Do you, Sam? No, you like doing things your own way and to hell with the consequences. But that's only because you're a coward and a control freak. You can't stand to follow. You have to be in charge or else the world ends. Poor little Sammy."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam muttered, glaring at his older brother. "You don't know what you're talking about." He turned back to Bobby, fighting to ignore his brother's mocking responses. "Explain this to me, Bobby," he said evenly, trying to see things from Bobby's point of view. "You clearly want to talk to Dean while he's like this, but why? You said he wasn't possessed. You're not talking to anyone but Dean. You're not going to find out anything that Dean couldn't have told you if you had just asked him. So tell me why. Tell me why you forced me into having to deal with him like this _again_ if not just for your own amusement."

"We've already learned that he can't pass the Devil's Trap, Sam," Bobby pointed out rationally, his voice forcibly cool and collected to match Sam's.

"And what did that accomplish? We know he's a demon. Fine. So what? That doesn't help us!" Sam began to pace a short circuit to Bobby's side, dutifully avoiding and ignoring his brother in the trap. Dean was going on about something or other but Bobby was only half listening, attempting to glean the more telling facts from the usual demonic bullshit.

"Do you expect me to have all the answers for you, Sam? Because I sure as hell don't! I've never even heard of a situation like this let alone witness one! So we're left with Dean and what he knows."

"He doesn't know anything else! We already told you everything!" Sam insisted breathlessly, desperate for Bobby to have the answers he clearly didn't. They didn't have anyone else to turn to. If Bobby didn't know how to help Dean then no one would. Sam would just have to figure out a way to help his brother himself.

"He doesn't have any answers for you, Sammy," Dean mocked, his words finally getting through amongst the shouting as Bobby hesitated. "He's the only one of Dad's friends left alive and you know what? Do you want to know why the demon killed Caleb and Pastor Jim and left you alive, Bobby? It's because you're worthless. You weren't worth killing. You haven't got a clue and Sam knows it but poor Sammy, you're the only one he has. You wouldn't even begin to know what to do with me. Coming here was a waste of time. Now let me the fuck out of this goddamned thing."

There was a moment's silence after that, just long enough for Dean to smirk and snicker, his lips twisted into a cruel smile as his taunts were obviously taken to heart.

"Perform the exorcism, Bobby," Sam said finally, offering no reassurances whatsoever as to Bobby's worth in regards to the yellow-eyed demon. "Dean's here, trapped, so just do it. I don't know if it will help but we don't really have any other choice."

"What? You treacherous bastard!" Dean hissed, pounding his fists against the barrier created by the Devil's Trap in frustration. "You're just going to let Mr. Useless here lay some mojo on me without even knowing what the fuck it will do? Have you ever actually _seen_ this jackass perform an exorcism before? He doesn't know what the hell he's doing!"

Sam turned a level look in his brother's direction. "If it was really my brother speaking right now instead of the demon that's controlling him, you'd agree with me; you'd let Bobby perform the exorcism without comment." Well, that wasn't completely true. Dean may be good at following orders, but he also had a master's degree in bitching and moaning. He'd do whatever it is you wanted him to do, but only after making you feel sorry for asking in the first place.

"And if you were really _my_ brother then you wouldn't be so ready to send me to hell!" Dean shot back, his eyes filled with betrayal and rage.

"I'm not going to send you to hell, Dean," Sam argued in annoyance.

"Oh yeah? And what does an exorcism do, Sam? What is its chief purpose? To send demons back to hell! And as we've recently found out, _I'm a demon!_"

"People don't just become demons, Dean. Not even the yellow-eyed bastard can be here in the flesh. I don't care what you say, I don't care what Bobby says. You're possessed and I'm going to send the bastard controlling you screaming straight back to hell." Sam's jaw and eyes were set with this declaration and it was clear he truly believed in what he was saying. He wasn't just making up a line to reassure Dean. "Grab the most powerful exorcism book you have Bobby, and any other supplies we'll need."

"Just be careful, Sam. Demon or not, that's still your brother in there," Bobby said as he handed him a heavy tome from the middle of one of the tall stacks of books scattered throughout the room. "I know you don't believe me, but I still say he isn't possessed. What he's saying might actually be true. You're risking the chance of sending your _brother_ to hell, Sam. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Give me another option and I'll more than happy to try it," Sam murmured, not looking up from the book as he read over the 'Ritus Exorcizandi Obsessos a Daemonio.' He then went on speaking as if Bobby had never asked the question. "We already know that holy water's useless against him but hopefully this won't be," he murmured, balancing the book on his forearm as he held up a long beaded rosary with his free hand.

"Are you going to lead it or am I?" Bobby asked evenly. If they were going to do this, then they were going to do it right.

"I'll lead, you can read the responses," Sam murmured after a brief moment's thought. If anyone was going to do this to Dean, it was going to be him. "But the minute anything goes wrong we're stopping." The instruction was for Bobby but he met Dean's eyes when he said it.

"Save your worthless reassurances," Dean hissed. "See you in hell, little brother."

Sam couldn't help but flinch at the utter hatred in his brother's voice but quickly shook it off. When Dean was himself again, he'd be thanking him for performing the exorcism. Until then, he'd put up with Dean's threats and growled insults and stinging barbs. He pushed all doubt and insecurity about performing an exorcism against his own brother and what the consequences would be—going into an exorcism with an unsure heart and mind would surely end in disaster—and opened his mouth to speak.

"Ne reminiscaris, Domine, delicate nostra, vel parentum nostrorum: neque vindictam sumas de peccatis nostris," He gave the invocation in a strong voice, calling upon God and all the saints and angels in heaven for guidance as Bobby whispered the Lord's Prayer in Latin at his side. He waited until he and Bobby spoke the 'and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil," before continuing on with the 53rd psalm.

"Salvum fac servum tuum," he called out, asking God to save His servant.

"Deus meus, sperantem in te."

"Esto ei, Domine, turris fortitundinis."

"A facie inimci," Bobby responded, his voice strong to match Sam's as together they asked God to grant Dean the strength to fight.

"Nihil proficiat inimicus in eo."

"Et fillius iniquitatis non apponant nocere ei."

"Mitte ei, Domine, auxillium de sancto."

"Et de Sion tuere eum."

"Domine, exaudi orationem meam."

"Et clamor meus ad te veniat."

"Dominus vobiscum."

"Et cum spiritu tuo," Bobby ended the invocation and both of them glanced at Dean to see how he was holding up before continuing.

All throughout the invocation, Dean had been pacing the confines of his circular prison back and forth, back and forth, searching for some way to escape what could not be escaped. So far he didn't feel any different at all, giving no thought toward the two men except to try and follow what they were saying as practice for his admittedly rusty Latin, but he knew once they started addressing him personally, or rather the demon they thought was possessing him, then the real fun would start. He ignored their prayers and invocations for the protection of his soul and blah, blah, blah and waited for the blows to come. He didn't have to wait long.

Sam took a deep breath and seemed to gain a few inches in height as he prepared to speak directly to the demon; to command it to leave and never return. "Praecipio tibi, quicumque es, spiritus immude, et omnibus sociis tuis hunc Dei famulum obsidentiubus: ut per mysteria incarnationis, passionis, resurrectionis, et ascensionis Domini nostril Jesu Christi, per missionem Spiritus Sancti, et per adventum ejusdem Domnini ad judicium, dicas mihi nomen tuum, diem, et horam exitus tui, cum aliquot signo: et ut mihi Dei ministro licet indigno, prorsus in omnibus obedias: neque hanc creaturam Dei, vel circumstantes, aut eorum bona ullo modo offendas.

Dean was sure that if he had been able to force his eyes open long enough to look down at his belly, he would have seen barbed hooks trying to pull him inside out. That was what it felt like, anyway. It felt like something was doing its best to yank his…well, soul or essence or whatever out of his belly and up through his mouth, but he kept choking on the results. He wasn't about to beg for mercy though. These two bastards who had once called themselves his blood and his friend could do whatever the hell they wanted to him. It wouldn't do any good. He'd find a way out of this accursed circle even if he had to lie and cheat his way back into Sam's trust. And then when they finally started to believe he was 'cured' he'd strike. He just had to hold out until then…

Sam refused to let any doubt enter his mind about how Dean didn't seem to be getting any better throughout the reading of the first part of the exorcism. He refused to believe that this wouldn't work; that it wouldn't free his brother from whatever demon was calling his body home and return him back to his old, annoying self. He would continue to refuse to let doubt gain a hold in his mind until the exorcism was finished and Dean remained unchanged. Until then he would keep reading the Bible verses and the commands to the demon within and pray for the best.

Bobby kept his eyes on Dean as Sam read from the Gospels of John, Mark and Luke, watching for any signs of change or reaction to the spoken words. He had seen and participated in more exorcisms than either Winchester could even imagine, but there was just something different about this one. He, like Sam, prayed that it would work and that Dean would be freed, but he was prepared for what would have to happen next if it didn't.

"Domine, exaudi orationem meam," Sam finished the readings, asking the Lord to hear his prayers.

"Et clamor meus ad te veniat," Bobby responded in turn.

"Dominus vobiscum," Sam whispered reverently, giving the first part of the blessing.

"Et cum spiritu tuo," Bobby responded in matched tones.

The Sam bowed his head and prepared to pray. Once he had finished he looked up and his eyes locked with Dean's. He would finish this; he would free his brother from this demon one way or another. He only hoped that the next stage of the exorcism would do its work and that God would grant him strength. He knew that Dean didn't really believe in God even when he wasn't possessed by a demon, but Sam had always and would continue to believe enough for the both of them.

"Exorcizo te, immundissime spiritus, omnis incursion adversarii, omne phantasma, omnis legio, in nominee Domini nostril Jesu," He made the sign of the cross, "Christi eradicare, et effugare ab hoc plasmate Dei." He made the sign of the cross again, his voice rising with determination and reverence, "Ipse tibi imperat, qui te supernis caelorum in inferiora terrae demergi praecepit. Ipse tibi imperat, qui mari, ventis, et tempestatibus imperavit. Audi ergo, et time, satana, inimice fidei, hostis generic humani, mortis adductor, vitae raptor, justitiae declinator, malorum radix, formes vitiorum, seductor hominum, proditor genitum, incitator invidiae, orio avaritiae, causa diccordiae, excitatory dolorum: quid stas, et resistis, cum scias, Christum Dominum vias tuas perdere? Illum metue, qui in Issac immolatus est, in Joseph venumdatus, in argon occius, im homine crucifixus, decinde ingerni triumphator fuit."

Sam took a breath and stepped wholly into the circle where Dean still stood, knowing that if this didn't work Dean could and likely _would_ try and kill him. But he had faith and he didn't have a choice.

Dean watched, unable to move, unable to react as Sam traced the sign of the cross over his forehead once with every call to God and command to Satan and all his devils. His breath was coming too quick in his chest now, and spots danced before his eyes as he fought tooth and nail to get ahold of himself. It was a fight he was going to lose as the hooks that had been painfully tugging at his soul suddenly yanked without warning and with more force than he could have ever imagined. The purity of Sam's beliefs and the resoluteness he had that this would work was quickly killing him.

Sam recoiled back in horror as he found himself spattered with a choking cough of hot blood from his brother's mouth. His Latin faltered as he reached out to catch Dean's suddenly boneless form. He hadn't even finished the exorcism and yet this was a clear result that something was going horribly wrong. His eyes flashed to Bobby in fear as he crouched in the middle of the circle, clutching Dean to his chest as his older brother thrashed and flailed about as if his skin were on fire. "B-Bobby?" he called, not knowing what to do or if this was even normal. He could count the actual exorcisms he had preformed in his life on one hand and still have fingers left over.

Bobby was admittedly at as much of a loss as Sam was. He had never seen an exorcism end like that before, especially before it was even through. He didn't say a word, instead moving into the circle at Sam's side, crouching down to place two fingers at Dean's neck, half fearing what he would find. He breathed a sigh of relief to find a pulse there; a little erratic and quicker than it should be especially as Dean seemed to be unconscious, but at least he was still alive. "I don't know, Sam. I've never seen anything like that before."

"I don't know about you, but that sucked," Dean interrupted whatever Sam had been about to respond with, his voice rasping and harsh. "And you could use a breath mint, dude," he murmured, his eyes meeting Sam's as their faces were mere inches away from each other.

"Dean? Are you…are you with us?" Sam asked, both relief and habit paranoia colouring his voice.

"If you're asking if the exorcism worked then no, it didn't. But on the plus side, I don't feel like killing either of you any more," he said with a forced smile that looked grotesque and macabre on blood covered lips.

"Well that's something," Bobby responded wryly. "That's a lot of blood you've lost there, Dean. Tell me straight. Are you going to need a hospital?" Bobby asked directly, knowing Dean wouldn't respond to the question if it were voiced any other way.

"I don't know but I could find out if Francis here would get the hell off of me," he muttered good-naturedly, pushing away from Sam's frantic embrace slowly. Sam frowned but let go of his brother since they were both already on the floor and he couldn't fall any further than that if he tried to again. Dean winced, but he sat upright within the confines of the circle, not able to pass the edges like Sam and Bobby could. "Besides feeling like someone tried to yank my insides to the outside, I'm alright now." He could practically feel Sam start brooding and was quick to continue. "I'm fine Sam, so you can just cut that shit out right now. You did what you had to do. It didn't work but you didn't know that it wouldn't."

"Why didn't it work?" Sam asked slowly, already knowing the answer but not wanting to fully believe it.

Dean attempted to take a deep breath before speaking and came up short with a wince and a grunt. He held up a hand to forestall Sam's worry. "The exorcism didn't work because I'm not possessed by a demon, Sam. I _am_ the demon."

TBC

A/N: I decided to end this scene there because this chapter was already long enough as it was. Look for the next one as soon as I finish writing it. Until then, please review. Thanks.

A/N2: The Latin exorcism rite was directly taken from a real Catholic exorcism rite and while I didn't post any translations of the Latin (the show doesn't either) if you're itching to know what Sammy's saying, drop me a line and I'll get you a link to where I got the whole shebang from.


	11. Chapter 10

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's been cursed to become one of the very things he hunts and what's worse is that he doesn't yet know it. Meanwhile Sam's having crippling visions that seemingly have nothing to do with either demon or the children like him. And that's just the beginning.

Author's Note: My very first Supernatural fic ever, so take that into account when you're reviewing. To those of you who already have, especially to ask for this chapter, thanks! I really need to find a beta to keep me motivated/on task/writing. To that effect, this chapter is entirely unbetaed so if you find any glaring errors...um...whoops?

Author's Note 2: This is AU after 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things,' more or less, so keep that in mind.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

When I'm branded, this mark of shame,  
Should I look down disgraced or straight ahead  
And know that you must blame?

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
and nothing else matters.

'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica

Chapter Ten

"_The exorcism didn't work because I'm not possessed by a demon, Sam. I am the demon." _

Sam frowned but didn't argue Dean's logic because in light of the evidence he and Bobby had just witnessed, this was clearly the case. "Then we'll just have to find who did this to you and force them to make it right."

Dean nodded slowly, accepting Sam's faith that everything would turn out alright for now. He coughed once and spat a mouthful of blood to the floor ungracefully, wiping at his chin and mouth with the back of a bound hand, merely smearing the wet blood in a dramatic angle across his right cheek. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam asked warily, wondering what else was in store.

"Did my eyes turn black?" Dean asked with a curious tilt of his head. "Cause that would be awesome."

The question startled a laugh out of Sam as he shook his head. "Sorry. You missed out on that one."

"Damn," Dean muttered good-naturedly, his still-green eyes twinkling with mischief.

Bobby just shook his head as he watched the two brothers interact. They were clearly reforming the strong bonds that tied them together after the failed exorcism, and it warmed Bobby's heart to be a witness to it. They were far from out of the woods yet, however but Bobby was wiling to grant them a break for now. "Sam, why don't you get your brother a washcloth so he can clean up? It'll take me awhile to get the ladder from the garage in here so I can take care of that circle." Bobby didn't wait for a response from the younger man, instinctively knowing that getting Dean out of the devil's trap would be Sam's first priority and nothing else would get done until that was accomplished.

"I take it that the whole blood-soaked demon look isn't working for me?" Dean asked wryly after Bobby had left the room. He had caught his breath as he sat on the floor within the confines of the circle, but the pain that the exorcism had invoked hadn't fully faded and his face was beginning to itch from the quickly drying blood that covered it.

"That's not funny, dude. And no, it's not working for you at all," Sam muttered, shaking his head at Dean's insistence to make light of his situation at every opportunity. Sam had spent enough time in his older brother's company to know that making jokes and wisecracks was just Dean's way of dealing. Or not dealing, as the case may be. Sooner or later he was going to call him on it and they were going to sit down and have a serious conversation about what they were going to do next but for now he'd let Dean have his moment of levity; especially after what they had done to him.

"Too bad," Dean murmured, wanting to lean back on his hands as sitting up straight suddenly became something more of an effort than it by all rights should have been. But he didn't want to ask; he didn't want to give Sam any indication that he was anything but ok, but he just couldn't hold out any longer. He was tired, sore and bloody, and he imagined that once he actually tried something other than sitting he'd find all too quickly just how bad off he really was. "Are you going to go and get me that washcloth or are you just going to stand there?" he asked slowly, betraying nothing. He would just have to suck it up and tough it out like the good little demon he clearly wasn't. He'd take a stab at leaning against the walls of this damned trap, but he wasn't quite up to reaffirming his newfound status as a demon so casually. It was one thing for him to joke about it to anyone within listening distance, but it was an entirely different matter to flaunt the fact in a room full of hunters like himself. Though on the other hand, he was probably considered a very different kind of hunter now but to dwell on that invited temptation to tongue the barrel of his favourite pistol and he wasn't to that point just yet.

"Sure, Dean," Sam said with a nod and a piss-poor attempt at a reassuring grin. "I'll be right back." He didn't really want to leave him alone, especially in this state, but he reasoned that there wasn't a whole hell of a lot Dean could do with his hands bound together while caged within a devil's trap. Dean managed a nod before slumping a little over his legs once Sam's back was turned. _At least he didn't tell me to stay here,_ he thought to himself with a tired sigh.

WWW

Bobby returned with the unwieldy ladder in hand to the sound of bickering from the two brothers. Both were where he had left him, only now Sam was crouched in front of Dean and vainly trying to scrub dried blood off of his brother's face while Dean kept insisting that he could do it himself despite the tied hands and the obvious weariness lining every feature. They sounded just like any pair of brothers in the country despite what they had gone through and the realizations it had brought with it. He felt a well of sadness sneak up on him that John wasn't around to witness such strength and devotion towards one another as his boys showed, but Bobby wouldn't put it past the crafty bastard to have his eye on a little bit of everything as he had in life, even in death.

"If you would just hold still I'd be done by now!" Sam grumbled irritably, looking every bit like a father attempting to deal with a stubborn child. Bobby fought back a laugh at the image.

"If you weren't so busy trying to scrape my face off with that thing I might!" Dean grumbled back, fidgeting away from Sam but not really making a real effort to get away. After all, there wasn't far he could go. He wouldn't ask to be untied so he could do it himself. Not until there was no other option.

Sam looked up as Bobby set the ladder upright but Bobby knew both brothers had been aware of his arrival ever since he had passed through the front door despite their bickering. He opened his mouth with what was likely an offer to help but Bobby cut him off with a stern look. "If you even offer I'm going to have to kick your butt for making me feel like an old man, Samuel Winchester."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Bobby," Sam said with his best innocent grin; a grin he might have not bothered with if he had known how many times his daddy had tried and failed to use the very same one on him over the years. Seeing it again on Sam made his heart ache a little for his lost friend, but was glad he and John had had a chance to reconcile before the end.

Bobby just snorted gruffly as he began climbing the tall ladder to the ceiling where the devil's trap was painted. He didn't intend on doing anything more than chipping enough paint off of the edge for it to be broken and for Dean to be released, knowing and accepting that he'd have to paint it later in case they needed to use it again now that they knew it worked.

Dean gasped as he felt the trap break all around him. He hadn't really noticed it going in except perhaps the smallest sense of unease, but he sure as hell felt it being broken; like an 'all clear' sounding off within his skull. "That's enough, Bobby," he called up after taking a breath. "It's broken." He heard Bobby begin to descend the ladder and knew that his information had been heard. Now all that remained was getting to his feet and leaving the damned thing, but between his bound hands and the blood loss, he was seriously debating just staying put right where he was.

He was saved the embarrassment of falling flat on his face in the attempt by Sam's strong hand beneath his arm, hauling him slowly to his feet and unhesitatingly taking any and all of his weight if it was necessary. "I want a no-bullshit assessment, Dean. How are you doing?" Sam asked as he helped his brother back to the couch.

Dean sighed and found himself far too weary to put on the strongest of fronts right now. "I tell you what, Sam. If I pass out and can't be revived or start bleeding where there shouldn't be any blood again, you have my permission to drag my sorry demon ass to the hospital. You might want to untie me if that happens though. I had enough of being tied to the bed last time around. Speaking of which, the same applies to you if you have one of your mind-crushing you-know-what's again."

"Fine. Deal," Sam agreed as Dean settled back down on the couch, sinking deeply into the musty cushions. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Just know that the nearest hospital is a good 20 minutes away," Bobby cut in as he leaned the ladder against the wall and out of the way for when he'd need it again.

"It's nothing that won't heal, Sammy. I'll be fine," Dean said evenly, not really in the mood to discuss this right now.

"Damn it, Dean," Sam said with a sigh, "What happened to the no b.s.? You may be a master at putting up the unflappable front, but right now you look at bad as you no doubt feel."

Dean sighed, not really up for this. "So if I were to tell you that I felt like my insides had been yanked out through my throat and then shoved back down all crooked and ass backwards what would you do, Sam? What could you _possibly_ do?" Dean didn't wait for an answer but kept on. "Nothing, Sam. You couldn't do a goddamned thing because there's no cure or help for an exorcism in which there was nothing to exorcise except whatever's happened to my sorry excuse for a soul. So alright, I may not be fine, I may not be in the pink of health, but I'll survive, Sam."

"You know what? Forget I even asked. It doesn't matter," Sam gritted out, clearly annoyed but fighting it. Getting annoyed with Dean when he was like this was akin to dropkicking a soaking wet kitten across the room.

"You feel up to eating, Dean? It's all we can really do for the blood loss outside of a hospital. You two are staying here until we figure this out," Bobby declared with a firm nod.

"What about Rumsfeld?" Dean asked after a moment, remembering how the dog had first reacted to him.

"Oh don't you worry about him. This won't be the first time that mutt's spent the night outside or in the garage. He has the sense to keep out of the weather."

"Thanks, Bobby. We didn't really have a plan aside from getting here," Sam acknowledged with an embarrassed crook of a smile.

"Yeah, I sorta figured that," Bobby said wryly. "You two just stay put. You're guests. I'll whip up some of my famous hunter's stew for dinner. Even you're daddy had to admit that it was the best he'd tasted this side of the Mississippi."

"If you're sure we're not imposing—"

"You kidding? You two boys are always welcome under my roof, demon or not," he said pointedly towards Dean. "That won't ever change."

"Thank you, Bobby," Dean whispered, hearing what Bobby didn't say. Even if they never found a cure or way to lift this curse, he wouldn't lose Bobby as a friend. That meant more to him right now than he could express in words.

Bobby just nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, clearly intent on making enough food to feed an army given the loud clattering of pots and pans that could be heard immediately after he had disappeared from sight.

"Here," Sam murmured, crouching before his brother to untie the thick knots that bound Dean's hands together. "You can't eat with your hands tied together anyway."

Dean didn't want to argue as he was beginning to loose feeling in the tips of his fingers from having his wrists bound for so long, but Sam and Bobby's safety had to be considered. "It isn't—"

"Safe, yeah I know. But I'm not going to keep you tied up like some rabid animal either, Dean. And Bobby and I can look after ourselves. You just have to remember that nothing else matters."

Dean blinked at him as Sam threw the discarded length of rope to a battered end table near the couch. "Say again?"

"Nothing Else Matters, Dean. Come on. I thought you were the Metallica fan here, not me."

Something clicked behind Dean's eyes and he nodded slowly. "Yeah, alright it's a Metallica song. What does that have to do with anything, Sam?"

"Well you said humming Metallica helps you calm down, right? Well that's what I want you to hum if you start feeling like you're loosing control." Sam gave him a small smile as if bemused at his own genius.

Dean snorted and shook his head. "That's weak, dude."

"Have you got a better idea?" Sam challenged with a raised eyebrow, not really offended by Dean's usual mockery.

Dean held up his newly freed hands in defeat. "Not really, but I gotta say it's as funny as hell to see that not only do you listen more closely to my so-called 'greatest hits of mullet rock' than you let on, but you actually know and can _name_ one of the songs. My little Sammy's finally starting to get it. I think I might cry."

"Dude, get off," Sam growled as Dean attempted to pat his shoulder in a proud manner. Despite his irritation, he was glad to see that Dean was acting in at least a semblance of his usual, annoying self. And he knew that Dean had listened to his advice and would indeed try and follow it if he could. Sam just hoped it worked. Although he supposed that even if it didn't work as he hoped it would, at least it would let him know when Dean was on the verge of losing himself again.

Dean just smirked and took a breath before easing himself off of the couch. When it was clear he was able to keep his feet beneath him and wasn't going to topple backwards again, he nodded in a direction over Sam's shoulder. "I've got to use the little boy's room. The windows aren't big enough for me to escape from, but make sure to salt the others and the doors, would you? If we're going to be holed up here tonight then make sure to salt the exits in case I try and pull a runner later." Sam opened his mouth but Dean cut him off. "Don't talk, don't argue, just do it Sam." He waited for Sam's sign of acknowledgement and then nodded. "Thanks. Now get out of my way."

Sam did as he was told and bit his tongue against the offer of help as he watched his brother move slowly to the bathroom, knowing it wouldn't be accepted. He then allowed his mind to wonder over the hunter's etiquette of using one's own salt over that of your hosts' as he moved into the kitchen. All thoughts fled at the sight of Bobby, clad in a ratty 'Kiss the Cook' apron covered in questionable stains chopping vegetables. Sam could only stare blankly for a moment until Bobby felt his presence and gestured to a large can of salt off to one corner without being asked. Sam hurried to grab it, eager to do the work and get as far away from such a sight as quickly as he could. Some things in this job simply caused the mind to recoil in horror.

WWW

Dean waited until the bathroom door was closed and locked behind him before quietly freaking out. He wrapped his arms tightly around his still-aching chest and slid down to the floor with his back against his door. His breath was coming in harsh gasps and he was dimly aware of the fact that he'd better get a hold of himself soon or else he was going to hyperventilate and pass out. Sure, he could have passed off such an occurrence by the blood loss having affected him more than he had earlier thought, but it was best to just not let it happen in the first place.

Knowing now that he needed his breathing to slow, he closed his eyes and focussed all of his concentration on that until he was certain he had at least that part of himself under control. As for the rest, well that was another story entirely. He didn't want to have to tell Sam that he was already feeling the urge…no, _need_ to go out and slake his lust so he did his best to ignore it although he somehow knew that it would keep building to a point where he couldn't pretend it wasn't there any longer. He didn't know what would happen then, he didn't really want to know, but he was sure that Sam and Bobby would deal with it. They had to. He just had to hold out until then.

After a few more minutes spent trying to think of anything else but sex and women he finally rose to his feet and walked over to the small sink, careful to avoid the stacks of books in every available space even here in the bathroom. Or maybe _especially_ here in the bathroom… He turned on the faucet and brought a few handfuls of cold water to his face, that being as close to a cold shower as he could manage without drawing suspicion. He also took care to wash away any dried blood Sam might have missed before turning off the water; drying his hands and making his way back out to his fellow hunters.

WWW

"Urgh. Why did you let me eat so much?" Sam groaned as he lay back on the small single bed Bobby had provided. He could hear Dean moving about in the room beside him, the nearest available target for blame. After all, what were brothers for if not for blaming them for any and every thing that came to mind?

"Are you kidding? I would have lost fingers trying to get between you and that stew. I'm lucky I got a bowl at all with the way you were wolfing it down, Piggy," Dean murmured wryly, trying his best to sound as if everything was normal when he was finding it harder and harder not to make a run for the door, salt ring be damned.

"Don't call me Piggy," Sam grumbled, clutching his stomach and shutting his eyes tightly. He really had no one else but himself to blame, and possibly Bobby for making such a delicious meal, but who had time to be rational when you just felt like curling up and sinking into the mattress?

"Why did you eat so much in the first place? I swear, you were shoveling food into your mouth as if it were going out of style. Haven't you been eating lately?" Dean stepped back and looked over his brother. "It certainly doesn't seem that way, sasquatch, so explain it to me."

"It's just—I haven't had a real sit-down meal like that in a long time. Maybe I just wanted to make sure it would last," Sam admitted after a moment's thoughtful silence.

Dean supposed he could understand that. Even he grew tired of food on the road every once and awhile. "Whatever. I'm taking a shower. Try not to puke all over the room."

Sam just groaned in reply.

WWW

After awhile Sam just let himself settle on the small but surprisingly soft mattress Bobby had provided while he let the sound of the running water from Dean's shower soothe him. This mercifully wasn't accompanied by his brother's too-loud crooning of whatever 'best of mullet rock' song stuck in his head that particular day. Sam didn't really miss it now that it was gone and in fact enjoyed the silence.

He couldn't help but think of his own explanation to Dean's question over how he had acted at dinner. Was he really that desperate for a home-cooked meal that he'd bolted it down before it could disappear? Such thoughts weren't exactly welcome, especially at this late stage of the game, but he couldn't help it. Thoughts of his old life at Stanford…with Jessica were on his thoughts more often than not lately. It hadn't started out that way. He genuinely had wanted to do right by his dad by finally acting the part of the good son; of Dean. He had wanted to throw himself into hunting, hoping that somehow he would pick up the joy of it as Dean had along the line. He had been a fool to try. "Too little, too late," he murmured aloud with a sigh.

He couldn't deny it any longer. He simply wasn't cut out for this kind of work. He never had been. Well, sure he had the occasional death portent and knew which end of a shotgun to point towards a bad guy. Hell, he even knew the odd bit of occult magic and how to exorcise a demon—most of the time, at least—in the original Latin. None of which meant that this was all he wanted in life. He wanted normalcy. He wanted a life where he didn't have to want something like normalcy! He wanted the mundane; he wanted what other people took for granted every day of their lives. He was starting to think that he would never see these things no matter how much he longed for them; even before he found out that his only surviving family member was a demon.

He frowned, his thoughts revolving around that one ruthless fact like insects to a bug-zapper. He knew that by dwelling it he was beginning to deal with and accept it and that was something he couldn't ever allow himself to do. If he simply sat down one day and thought, 'hey, having a demon for an older brother's not all that bad. Maybe he even has cool powers!' then all would be lost. He wouldn't give up on Dean like that. Not now, and not ever. They would find a way to fix this, one way or another.

Speaking of Dean, what the hell was taking so long? The sound of the shower running had apparently stopped while Sam was lost within his thoughts but his brother had yet to reappear. Now normally, the rules of the road/motel rooms/general having to spend the entirety of your life with your brother aspects of their lives dictated that he should knock on the bathroom door if, and only if, he heard the sounds of Dean being A. murdered/fighting for his life/etc or B. too quiet to be anything but passed out or dead. Of course, the rules went screaming out the window in an instance like this where Dean could potentially loose it at any second and go all Jack Torrance on him and Bobby. He didn't hear Dean humming 'Nothing Else Matters' as Sam had asked him to under stress, but that didn't mean anything. Who knew what Dean would remember and choose to obey during such times? He waited a few more long minutes before sitting up on the bed. No more than his brother's name slipped past his lips before the man himself came striding out of the bathroom clad in nothing but his ever-present pendant and a towel, a thick curtain of steam chasing after him to die quickly in the cool air of the bedroom.

"Well you haven't puked," Dean murmured with a teasing glint in his eyes as he held the towel shut with one hand and grabbed the duffle of his clothes Sam had brought in from the car earlier.

"No, no puke. Sorry to disappoint," Sam murmured wryly. He shifted on the bed, not liking something in the tone of his brother's voice but not quite able to put his finger on what it was. His teasing didn't have as much levity to it as it usual did. It seemed somehow…forced, or worse faked. Sam tensed, hoping he was just being paranoid. "Dean, are you—the tattoo!"

"Am I the tattoo?" Dean asked with a confused raise of a single eyebrow, turning to look at his brother.

"The tattoo! Your tattoo! You say you don't remember getting it, right? Well maybe it's not a tattoo. Maybe it's some kind of mark."

"A tattoo is a kind of mark, there genius," Dean murmured, not following where Sam was going with this. In truth, he'd forgotten about the damn thing until now and his free hand went to his back where he assumed it to be.

Sam shook his head in irritation at Dean's apparently misunderstanding. "Bobby!" he bellowed, throwing open the bedroom door. "Bobby, get in here!"

"What the hell are you doing, Sam?" Dean asked with wide, incredulous eyes, clutching the towel tighter around his waist as if hoping it would magically transform into a pair of jeans. "Don't call Bobby like that! Especially when I'm not wearing anything but a towel! It's called common courtesy, dude!"

Naturally, Bobby came armed in the manner in which he was called; armed for bear with his sights on Dean's barely clad form.

"Whoa," Dean said, holding up his free hand in a gesture of innocence. "If you're going to shoot someone, shoot Sam for calling you up here like that."

"Sam?" Bobby asked, looking for clarification that Dean hadn't somehow gone dark side again in the last hour.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, his cheeks colouring slightly. "I suppose I was a little too overenthusiastic in calling you up here under the circumstances."

Bobby lowered his shotgun with a shake of his head, leaving Dean to relax as much as one could while wearing nothing but a towel in a room full of men. "So? Are you going to tell me why you called me up here or not, Sam?" Bobby asked with an air of forced patience.

"Right," Sam acknowledged with a nod. "Dean, lie down on the bed on your stomach." He gestured for Dean to follow the order.

"You want me to what?" Dean breathed, his eyes moving from Sam back to Bobby back to Sam again.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I want him to take a look at your tattoo, Dean and it's easier if you just lay down anyway. Understand?"

"You could have just said that in the first place," Dean muttered as he cinched the towel as tightly as it would go around his waist before lying down on the bed. He didn't complain that he could have at least put on some pants first knowing that Sam would rag on him for being a wuss for days for that little comment.

"We noticed the tattoo…" time flew out of Sam's head. How long had it been since this had all started? It felt like years. "...right around the same time this whole thing began. Dean says he doesn't remember getting it and I believe him. I don't know if it means anything of it it's just some random symbol that he's stuck with for the rest of his life as a result of too much Jack and not enough sense." Sam shrugged. "But I thought I'd better show it to you all the same."

"Hmm," Bobby mused, walking over to the bed where Dean lay and looking the thing over. It was a series of sharp black lines roughly in the shape of a diamond placed directly over his spine in the small of his back, but it wasn't ringing any immediate bells in his long memory for such things. "You mind?" he asked, glancing up at Dean before reaching down to touch him. He figured that this had to be uncomfortable for him but he couldn't really blame Sam for being eager to find a way to help his brother. He waited for Dean's nod before tracing gentle fingers over the mark.

Dean shut his eyes tightly at the brief touch, hoping Sam and Bobby were paying more attention to the tattoo and its possible meanings—if any—than to Dean and how his hands were fisted in the sheets with his breath coming harsh and quick. That simple, innocent touch alone had sent a bolt of molten fire straight from his spine to his groin and Dean had to bite back a moan. The cold shower had not helped at all and the nearly all-encompassing lust seemed stronger than ever; not to be denied if he wanted to keep his sanity.

"It doesn't feel demonic or tainted in any way but Dean might be dampening that somehow without trying." He shrugged as if to say sorry for the blunt comment even though he knew that Dean couldn't see him. "I'll check my books. If it's the sign or sigil of whoever or whatever did this to Dean, I'll find it Sam."

Sam's brow furrowed that Bobby didn't have an immediate answer for him but he nodded anyway. "Thanks, Bobby. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it really is just a tattoo."

Bobby returned the nod but they both knew he would look anyway just to be sure. "I'll uh, let you boys know if I find anything. You can get up and get dressed now, Dean," he murmured as he moved away from the bed so that Dean could get up without him standing over him. "You two call if you need anything." With that last instruction he took hold of his shotgun and left the room, closing the bedroom door once more behind him.

Sam waited until he was sure Bobby had gone back downstairs before slowly approaching Dean who hadn't yet gotten up off the bed. "Dean? Are you ok?" he asked cautiously, having learned his lesson well that setting Dean off lately wasn't ever a good idea.

Dean let his eyes open and forced his hands to loosen on the sheets knowing that if he didn't get up off the bed soon then Sam would come over and probably do something to make things worse like shaking him to see if he was still awake. Well, perhaps not given the concern and caution he heard in his voice but Dean figured he'd better get up and get dressed—and unwelcome prospect no matter how he looked at it—all the same. "I'm fine, Sam. Stop hovering." He pushed off of the bed, happy to get up and off his stiff and now painful erection. He hoped the towel covered that much at least. Explaining it away would be…awkward. "I just want to get dressed and go to bed."

"It's not even 10 yet, Dean," Sam pointed out with a frown. He wanted very much to follow his own wise advice of not pushing Dean's buttons or questioning him, but how the hell was he supposed to help when he was being lied to at every turn? "I know you're not fine, Dean. Just for once can you tell me what's wrong? It's not much to ask especially under the circumstances." He paused and went for the jugular. "Let me help you, Dean. I'm not going to loose you like I did Dad. I won't."

Dean was busy rifling through his duffle for clean clothes therefore Sam missed the half scowl half frown that he gave at such a comment. "I don't need any help, Sam. I'm fine really. It's been a long day and I want to go to bed. That's all. Don't go looking for what's not there." He hoped his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought it should have been. He had planned to leave things at that but was brought up painfully short by Sam's insistent hand on his shoulder turning him around. He gasped before he could stop himself and his eyes fluttered briefly as he focussed on Sam's hands; Sam's large calloused hands that he couldn't help but imagine trailing over every bit of his bare skin, making him moan and writhe in pleasure… He pushed violently away from his _brother's_ innocent touch, his breathing harsh and his eyes wide. He couldn't do this. He had to get _out_ of here before he jumped _his brother's _bones.

"Dean?" Sam asked warily, holding up his hands in front of him as it was clear that Dean didn't want to be touched. "Are you ok?" It was a stupid question, because it was clear Dean was anything _but_ ok, but he needed his brother to talk to him.

Dean was flush against the wall, trembling as he fought the lust that was like huge beast sitting on his chest and making it harder and harder to breathe. "Nothing else matters, Sam. Nothing else matters," he forced himself to say, needing to let Sam know that he wasn't safe. "I need…I need to get out of here. Right now."

Sam froze, cursing softly. Well at least now he had an inkling of what was wrong although he couldn't think what could have possibly set Dean off this time. The obvious reason for Dean's discomfort was a prospect Sam's mind refused to venture towards. "Dean, it'll be alright. You just need to calm down. Remember the song. You don't want to hurt me." Sam took a step back and took a breath to bellow for Bobby when Dean spoke again.

"No, I don't want to hurt you. It'd be better if I did. I _wish_ I wanted to hurt you," Dean breathed, moving away from the wall with Sam as he took a step back, preserving the distance as if connected by something Sam couldn't see.

Bobby's help momentarily forgotten, Sam's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of his brother's comment. "What do you mean?"

Dean slowly started closing the gap between them, not bothering to clench his towel tightly shut anymore. It had slid dangerously low on his hips, any further and Sam would see just exactly what was wrong with him. This was beyond wrong—he was by no means gay but even if he had been, he wasn't willing to commit incest either—but his lust would be slaked one way or another. There was nothing more to it than that. "Let me go out, Sam," he whispered; his voice thick and full of sinful promise. "Let me find some hot young thing to spend a few hours with," he moved even closer still, closing the distance between them despite Sam's continued stepping back, "so I don't have to take you instead." There, he'd said it. It had been curiously easy to get the words past his lips now that he'd started given into the idea that he was going to fuck someone tonight, no matter who, no matter the cost.

"Dude!" Sam grunted in disgust and horror, Dean's point clearly made. He made a move to push Dean back and as far away from him as possible but his best intentions were lost as in the instant his hand made contact with his brother's fevered skin, everything went white before rushing too fast headlong into a mind-shattering swirl of noise and imagery. The vision stole his breath away and forced him to the floor.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled, yet retaining enough of himself to call out for help for his brother now that it was clear he needed it. He would just have to find a way out of the house in the confusion of dealing with what was clearly another one of Sam's visions. The fact that this one seemed just as bad and painful as they had all been lately concerned the small part of him that was still a hunter and a fighter and controlled by desire went unmarked.

"What is it now?" Bobby yelled breathlessly, having run up the stairs at Dean's yell. He was presented with two answers to his question right off the bat: Sam was lying shaking on the floor, blood streaming from both flared nostrils, and Dean…Dean was a clearly lust-crazed incubus whose hard eyes were turned curiously on him as if summing him up. "Oh shit."

TBC

A/N: Well there you have it, after far too long a wait. I'm deeply sorry about that and I will try my very best to update once a week from now on. I wish it could be more than that but having a full-time 3rd shift job definitely cuts into my writing time. Anyway, I hope you all liked it at least a little. If you did, please let me know through a glorious review! Thanks:-D


	12. Chapter 11

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural Fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: If Supernatural really belonged to me, we'd get new episodes all year long! goes insane from the waiting

Summary: Dean's an incubus, Sam's forced to have crushing visions of his brother's exploits and something seems to be hunting both of them. Life is clearly not all fun and games for the brothers Winchester, but then again, when is it ever?

Author's Note: Clearly I shouldn't make plans for future fic updates because I swear, the instant I do, the universe laughs and makes it 10 times as difficult to accomplish. Ugh. Anyway, enough excuses. On with the new chapter! Enjoy.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

When I'm branded, this mark of shame,  
Should I look down disgraced or straight ahead  
And know that you must blame?

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

So close, no matter how far  
Couldn't be much more from the heart  
Forever trusting who we are  
and nothing else matters.

'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica

Chapter Eleven

"Sam could probably use some help," Dean said after a long moment of silence, finally breaking the standstill he and Bobby shared by moving to pull on the t-shirt he had gotten out earlier. If he was going to go out, he'd need clothing. For a little while, anyway.

"What have you done to him?" Bobby demanded, making no move to Sam's side though it was clear he wanted to. He kept the shotgun—likely loaded with rocksalt that would hurt more than a bitch if Dean was fired upon—trained on him, unwavering.

"Me? Nothing. I didn't get a chance," Dean muttered under his breath as he carefully pulled on a pair of boxers. It was a tricky maneuver given the combination of his heavy erection and the towel wrapped tightly around his lean hips, but he somehow managed without embarrassing himself. Although his current state of mind seemed to agree that even if the towel had fallen, it wouldn't really have mattered. "But that doesn't mean that I don't know what's happening to him," he added easily as he dressed further, pulling on his favorite pair of worn jeans with infinite care.

"Let me guess, you're not going to tell me," Bobby said through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing to Sam's now still form on the floor and Dean, who was casually putting his socks and boots on seemingly without a care in the world.

"Why would you assume that?" Dean asked curiously as he finished dressing, tying his heavy boots and making sure his boot knife was securely held within the right. He didn't really want to have to use it on Bobby, especially as Bobby had the gun and he didn't, but that didn't mean he wouldn't if the older hunter got in his way. "I'll be more than happy to tell you what's wrong with Sam, and more importantly how to help him."

"Right," Bobby said with a disgusted frown. "And what do I have to give in return for this information?" He was not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination and he'd been hunting longer than Dean had been alive. Having to deal with demons was his little niche in the hunting world, he supposed. He knew the stakes better than most.

"It's simple, Bobby," Dean said casually, taking a step over Sam's too-still body to move closer to Bobby and the door. If he was concerned about the rocksalt-filled shotgun Bobby held, he didn't show it. "Let me out of here. Break the salt lines and I'll tell you what's wrong with Sam."

Sam let out an unconscious moan as his brother passed over him, leading Bobby to believe that Dean was responsible for this despite what Dean had said. "Right. And you expect me to believe that you'll keep your word that you'll help me if I let you out of here? Please. I wasn't born yesterday," he said with a snort, never lowering the shotgun he still held trained on Dean.

Dean shrugged as if this didn't concern him in the slightest. "I guess you'll just have to trust me," he said with a smirk, turning to crouch next to the unconscious form of his brother.

"Get the fuck away from him!" Bobby growled, not willing to just stand here and let Dean do more harm while he watched.

"Or what? You'll shoot me? At this range you'll get us both. And I've a feeling I'll stand up to it far better than Sammy here will. After all, I know what it's like and how to work through the pain and he's already unconscious and bleeding. But don't worry, Sammy. He's not going to shoot." He reached down and patted his brother's cheek in what might have been an affectionate gesture had it not been for the wicked grin marring his features.

Bobby could only watch in horror as Dean's seemingly innocent touch sent Sam into some sort of seizing fit, his mouth stretched in a soundless scream and his fingernails drawing blood as his hands were clenched tightly at his sides.

"What have you done to him?!" Bobby growled, making a move to get Dean away from Sam by any means possible.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Dean advised calmly, watching his brother shake and tremble beneath him utterly detached. He was secretly pleased that his assumptions had been right. His initial touch must have sent Sam into some kind of vision like he'd had before and purposefully touching him again had only served to make things worse. "Me? Nothing much. I've only given you a bit more incentive because clearly you don't believe me when I say that Sam needs your help or else."

"Get the hell away from him, you son of a bitch!"

"Come now, Bobby. You shouldn't speak of my mother in that way," Dean chided with a disappointed frown as if he were some kind of demonic school teacher and Bobby was a particularly unruly student. "Let's cut through the shit, Bobby. What I've asked for is simple. Let me go and you'll be free to help Sam. It's clear that I can and _will_ make him worse so what more do you have to lose?" He rose from his crouch and fixed cold eyes upon Bobby. "Know this," he hissed. "That if you refuse, not only will I make it my purpose in this hellhole to hurt Sam even further, but I _will_ find a way out of here." Just because he couldn't get near the damned salt lines didn't mean that he couldn't throw something through them to break them. It only took the smallest break in a circle for it to lose all power. "Now I'm done asking. Your time wasting is only making Sam worse. So what's it going to be, Bobby?"

Bobby knew he was between a rock and a hard place and what was worse was that Dean seemed to be able to make good upon his threats regarding Sam. The young hunter's breath was coming in quick shallow gasps now and his pallor had paled to the color of spoilt milk. He was out of options. "Fine," he gritted through clenched teeth, taking a step back to the threshold of the room and drawing a boot through the salt line Sam had earlier placed there.

"Good. And the one across the front door?" Dean asked, making sure he wasn't about to betrayed. He could see Bobby pulling something like that; removing one boundary and getting him to talk all the while knowing he would be stopped before he reached the door.

"It'll be broken once you've told me what's wrong with Sam," Bobby declared grimly, not about to let Dean go before he got what he needed.

"What's the matter, Bobby? Don't trust me?" He didn't wait for Bobby's answer. "Well I don't trust you either. There's nothing to say that you won't just re-make the lines once you have what you need to know. Also, I'm not telling you jack or shit with that rifle still in your hands. Get rid of it and maybe we'll talk."

"Take the knife out of your boot and then maybe I'll consider it," Bobby declared tit for tat.

Dean smiled; glad to see that Bobby hadn't totally lost his touch. Just because he needed to best him to get out of this place didn't mean he wanted the older hunter defanged and declawed. Bobby truly was the only ally he and Sam had left and that made Dean the slightest bit less inclined to kill him. Well, they had Missouri too. Hell, she might even be able to help with Sam's visions. Maybe he'd do Bobby a favor if all went his way and share that last bit of information. He didn't really want to see his brother die.

"Come now, Bobby," Dean said with a smirk and a shake of his head, playing his part. "I may be a demon, but I seemed to have missed out on all the really cool powers. In fact, I can't really see an advantage to being an incubus at all," he muttered with a frown that could have almost been called a pout. "I tell you what. There's no way in hell that I'm going completely unarmed before you but I promise to leave the knife in my boot unless you force me to act otherwise." He spread his hands as if to ask if it was a deal. "You don't really have any other choice here, Bobby. Sam needs help and I've made it all too simple to do so. All you have to do is let me pass."

"What? So you can go out and kill someone else?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Bobby, if I wanted to _kill_ someone I could easily plunge my knife into little brother's chest before you had a chance to pull the trigger on me." He said it casually, just putting the truth of it out there. "But I don't want to do that. Hell, I don't even really want him to suffer. I just want to leave. That's all. Make your choice, Bobby. The life of some strange woman I may or may not kill depending on how long you keep me from her, or brother Sam here lying unconscious and bleeding on the floor. You have one minute to decide."

It was an impossible choice but Bobby made it. "I'm coming after you once Sam's well. You know that, don't you?" he asked the demon standing before him, his eyes hard and his jaw set.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Bobby. Now do I have your word?"

"Yes," Bobby said through clenched teeth. "Now tell me what you did to him."

Dean glanced down to Sam's still body, barely keeping the smirk from his face at his victory. He knew Bobby would keep his word; on both promises. "He's having a vision."

Bobby blinked at him. Dean noted he still hadn't put down the shotgun but as it was no longer trained so intently on him he let it pass. "He's having a what?"

"A vision. Sam's having a vision. He's been having them for months now. I don't really know where they come from and neither does Sam, but that's what they are. He has visions of people about to die. Sometimes we can even do something about it before it happens, but not always."

"Sam has visions," Bobby repeated slowly, as if trying to wrap his brain around it.

"Yup. He's every bit a freak as I am. Wouldn't dear old dad be proud? Course, lately Sammy seems to be having visions of your truly whenever I'm in a certain mood. That and whatever seems to be following me around if he's right about me not having mutilated those women." He shrugged. "They seem to be getting worse though. You might want to get him to look into that."

"From who? A voodoo doctor?" Bobby scoffed, still not really believing his ears.

Dean snorted. "Funny, but no. My suggestion would be to go a woman by the name of Missouri back in Lawrence. I see you've heard of her," Dean went on at Bobby's reaction to the name. "She knows about the visions. If anyone can help Sam my guess is that it's her. Just keep your feet off of her coffee table." With those words and a slight smirk he bent down once more to push the hair off of Sam's forehead yet without the malicious intent of before. Somehow that angered Bobby more. Sam twitched once mildly before going still. "I'm leaving now," Dean stated as he rose to his feet. "I told you how to help Sam and he'll probably wake up on his own sooner or later with nothing more than a splitting headache and a new story to tell. Now it's your turn. Break the seal, Bobby. And remember what I said about going through you if I had to. Keep your word and everything will be fine."

Bobby did keep his word albeit grudgingly and together they made their way downstairs. "Cheer up Bobby," Dean said after stepping out onto the porch, keeping a wary eye out for Rumsfeld. "You couldn't have stopped me. It's easier this way."

"Don't count on it. I'll be coming after you to hunt you down like the thing you've become, Dean. It's a promise."

Dean merely nodded, a part of him wanting to run back to the house for help and reassurances. The rest merely salivated over the thought of a hot and willing body beneath his. "Be seeing you, Bobby. Take good care of Sammy for me." The sound of a slammed door and the roar of the Impala were the only answers to that.

WWW

The bar reminded him of the Roadhouse. Dean wasn't quite sure what gave him this impression, whether it be the peanut shells that crunched under his boots or the fact that a bar fight seemed to be looming in the air every moment. Whatever it was, Dean liked it and knew this would be the place to slake his lust. He smiled to see the place was decently full this time of night and let his looks—combined with the worn leather jacket and heavy biker boots which just screamed bad boy—work to his advantage. He already picked out a few sets of interested eyes in the crowd, but he ignored them for a moment not wanting to see too eager even though his lust was practically screaming at him to take one of them—the blonde at the end of the bar, perhaps—right then and there on the bar top, their limbs sending drinks crashing to the floor and onto laps as they enjoyed each other. But there was something resembling propriety left within him telling him to wait just a little longer.

It was different without Sam there with him as his unwilling wingman; easier. There was no way any of the women whose eyes he held could take him for anything other than the hot-blooded straight man simply looking to get laid that he was. Or had been, at any rate. He supposed that he wasn't really a man anymore but that's what made this even more important. It was only when the lust wasn't burning its way just beneath his skin that he felt like his old _human_ self again. This simple notion merely occurred to him before passing unmarked. The lust was too prevalent, too insisting to let him focus on anything else for long.

He ordered a scotch and a beer chaser, sharing a long glance with the brunette behind the bar, each of them sizing the other up. It wasn't until Dean noticed the flash of gold on her left ring finger that he smiled and turned his attentions elsewhere. If he _had_ to kill some innocent woman tonight, he'd at least try to go for someone who wouldn't be missed. The part of him that could still claim to have a conscience in times like these knew it would be easier to deal with later if she was just another nameless face in the crowd. The blonde at he bar that he had been considering earlier for instance, looked more as if she were looking for all the same things he was; a night of pleasure, fun and anonymity. He moved in for the kill; though hopefully not literally.

WWW

It had taken some doing, but Bobby had managed to get Sam's long form up off of the floor and onto the bed. He chose not to be concerned quite yet that Sam had neither stirred nor said a word throughout. He would wake when he was ready; Bobby had to believe that. But he had never been good at the waiting game. He had never been the type to just sit idly by at a bedside or in a hospital waiting room sitting around waiting for a miracle. That simply wasn't who he was. When he had heard that the entire Winchester family was in the hospital after not only their consequent battle with the demon but a car accident to boot, of course he had run straight over to find out whether or not they would all survive. He had made peace with his friend John, assured both him and Sammy that Dean would fight his way out of the coma he'd been in, and escaped into the night with the excuse of collecting the Impala and the weapon cache held within.

So Bobby paced. He paced, and tidied up the room around him, or he at least straightened the stacks of books and moved them closer to the wall and out of the way. He exchanged his ever-present hat for one that wasn't quite as dirty and waited, thinking about what he would have to do to John Winchester's eldest next time he saw him. A part, even most of him if he was being honest, knew that Dean wasn't in control, that he couldn't have prevented himself from running out on his injured brother even if he'd wanted to. That didn't make a difference. If Dean turned out to be a killed—Sam's insistence of his brother's innocence aside—then he would have to be stopped. That's all there was to it. Bobby was not one of those who believed that supernatural beings could be redeemed if they simply had the will. If it killed then it would kill again, and again. And if you turned your back on it eventually it would kill you too. It was just in their nature, as it seemed to be in Dean's now too. Dean was a demon, more he was an incubus; a parasite of innocence and virtue. He was just another kind of vampire, really. And Bobby knew how to deal with vampires.

A soft moan from the man lying on the bed startled Bobby out of his thoughts. "Sam? You with me?" he called, immediately moving to the youngest Winchester's side.

"No," Sam groaned, raising a hand to his aching head. "AC/DC, Metallica and Led Zeppelin are all on speed playing back-to-back-to-back sets in my head."

Bobby chucked and shook his head at the same time. "I'll get you some aspirin. Just stay there."

Sam didn't nod, knowing it would hurt too much to even lift his head from the pillow under it. "I swear, I'm picking the music from now on. Dean has lost all privileges for a long—Dean!" He sat up straight in bed, immediately shutting his eyes tight and wincing. "Bobby, where's Dean?"

"He's gone, Sam. But he was right, wasn't he? You had a vision. You _have_ visions."

"What? Yeah, I guess. For about a year now. But that doesn't matter. He's in trouble, Bobby. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"Yeah I gathered that when the threatened to kill me to get through the door," Bobby said dryly. "He wasn't in control. I don't know what set him off exactly but I think you saw that before your…vision."

"Look, I'll tell you all about the visions later. I promise. But for now we've got to help Dean. He's in trouble, Bobby."

"What sort of trouble?"

Sam frowned at Bobby's suspicious tone and narrowed eyes. "Something's after him." He held his head and tried to remember the vision. "A woman, with dark hair and eyes."

"I'll assume that she's not exactly a woman," Bobby said with a raised eyebrow, not pointing out the obvious irony of Sam's statement. "You think she's the one who did this to him? A succubus maybe?" It was the only thing Bobby could make fit with what had happened to Dean; that another succubus or incubus had somehow turned him. "And you just happened to have a vision of her?"

"Yes."

"And that doesn't seem at all convenient to you? That you're having a vision of her now that Dean's off by himself? It sounds like a trap, Sam." Bobby forestalled Sam's arguments with a raised hand. "Dean can take care of himself. You know that better than anyone. And if this woman you saw really is a threat to him then we'll deal with it. But for now you need to look to yourself, Sam. What sets off these visions? Just answer the question, would you?"

"I don't know. Touching Dean, maybe?" He admitted with reluctance, not liking this line of questioning at all. They should be out there helping Dean not sitting around on their asses gossiping like a pair of old women. But Sam had already once tried to get up and off the bed only to be sent back down again as his legs refused to support his weight.

"And that doesn't sound like a problem to you?" Bobby pressed.

"Well I mean it doesn't happen all of the time. Only when Dean seems to be taken over by the incubus or whatever," Sam pointed out, knowing that his reasoning wasn't really on solid ground.

"So when you pass out in the middle of a hunt from Dean's accidental touch and get yourself killed I should remind myself after I've buried the both of you that the visions were only a problem when Dean was around. Sure. I get it."

"Bobby—"

"No, you listen to me, Sam. You're getting help for this and you're getting help now. As soon as you're able we're getting in the truck and heading back to Lawrence."

"Lawrence?"

Bobby nodded. "Dean reminded me before he ran off that there's a seer there by the name of Missouri Mosley that might be able to help you. Remember her?"

Sam nodded. "She and Dean didn't exactly get along. I'm surprised he mentioned her." Sam chose to take this as a sign that even when he wasn't fully in control, his brother wasn't completely lost. "How could she possibly help me?" he asked with a half-scowl, knowing the answer even before he asked it.

Bobby just gave him a look. "We're going. Call Dean and tell him if you must, but we're going."

It was clear from the set of Bobby's jaw and the determined look in his eyes that arguing the matter wouldn't change his mind. They were going to see Missouri.

WWW

The blonde—Dean didn't know her name, if he'd been told he'd quickly forgotten—turned out to be the touchy-feely type. Her hands were all over him as they pushed through the door of the cheap motel room he'd procured. Not that he minded, really. Each caress, each passionate touch of her warm fingers upon him just sent his lust soaring higher and higher; if such a thing was still possible, that is. It was a little odd that his breath seemed to quicken and his blood pounded more when she was running her fingers over her lower back—she had already disposed of his t-shirt with extreme prejudice—than when she slipped a hand into his jeans and grabbed his aching cock, but he let it slide.

The growl that escaped his throat as she started slowly kneading him, her hand still stretching the zipper of his jeans, clearly surprised both of them. But it didn't stop Dean as he quickly leaned forward to capture the delicate skin of her neck between his lips, suckling and lightly nipping as he went, encouraged by the low moans she had begun to make. Her hand down his pants now gently squeezed him automatically, reacting only to the pleasure he was giving her rather than a conscious decision, her free hand moving to undo his jeans for easier access.

Dean growled again at her ministrations, the sound sending a heated shiver down her spine and a chill down his. He didn't make sounds like that, did he? It was a low and throaty sound and it was far too possessive and primal-sounding to be considered fully human.

His pants and underwear were pushed down past his hips as he pondered this, the blonde clearly not troubled by the growl as he was. She got held up by his boots—the knife still sheathed in the right—so he broke from kissing her for a moment to rectify that. Within seconds they were both naked, and Dean pushed her backwards onto the bed, ignoring her giggle as she bounced on the mattress. She spread her thighs for him with a grin and their eyes locked. She might have murmured some additional invitation or come on but Dean ignored it as he had since they had arrived, paying attention and responding only when it was clearly expected of him. Her voice, along with her name and features—save the color of her hair—would be more easily forgotten if he didn't concentrate on them. This was his usual practice when it came to one-night stands, and it had served him well. This time however, he had a sinking suspicion that he'd be able to remember every detail, every inch of her skin as if he had spent hours studying her. It didn't matter. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only. The rest was dust.

After taking a moment to pull on a condom—he didn't know if demons could catch disease or not but didn't feel like finding out—they were moving as one. To her credit she seemed to realize that he had enjoyed her earlier ministrations, enough to growl at least, and was intent on figuring out how to make him do it again. Dean was more than happy to let her do whatever the hell she liked as long as her body remained hot and tight and willing around his. He briefly wondered as he placed his hands on her hips for easier access when exactly he'd gain whatever it was he gained from her. When did his…incubus-ness kick in? Would it feel different now that he was consciously waiting for it? Would it be a sudden shock to the system like a kick in the teeth or would it gradual, slowly realizing that he felt like a million bucks for no other reason than having just had really good sex? "Jesus fucking Christ," he gasped, any and all conscious thought scattered to the wind as she scratched her fingernails over his back. _What the hell is she doing that causes me to—_Everything faded in a haze of pure need and lust as he blindly gripped her harder, literally pounding her into the mattress now. If she made some sign to stop, some indication that this wasn't altogether comfortable or even fun, he didn't see it. Not that he would have cared. He was through caring about her needs, if indeed he ever had been caring about them in the first place. His fingers were likely leaving bruises on her hips but he couldn't stop.

Bliss. It hit him so suddenly that he almost didn't recognize it for what is was. Bliss; pure unadulterated bliss. This was what drove a million drug addicts to take that final fatal hit, able to strip every facet of humanity away from those in pursuit of it. It was all encompassing and in that moment even if he had to kill every woman he ever slept with ever again, he'd never stop taking it. He'd bleed them all dry if they just let him feel like this one second longer. It was every happy thought, every moment of peace, every smile, every word of praise he'd ever experienced in his entire life rolled into one shining moment. And in that moment he was lost.

As Dean collapsed on the bed, hot and sweaty and too blissed to care, he should have noticed two things: the blonde beneath him had gone far too still beneath him for someone who had just had a round of mind-blowing sex, and the pair of dark eyes that were watching his every mood with keen interest.

TBC

A/N: Whew! I finally did it :-D Next chapter: Missouri! And ooo I _finally_ get to introduce the villain. Better late than never, right? Heh. Dean's in trouble, Sammy's in trouble, and Bobby's along for the ride. Fun times! Please review and prod me to write the next chapter quicker than I did this one. ;-D


	13. Chapter 12

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated. Those selfish bastards!

Summary: Dean's an incubus, Sam's forced to have crushing visions of his brother's exploits and something seems to be hunting both of them. Life is clearly not all fun and games for the brothers Winchester, but then again, when is it ever?

Author's Note: Well it's certainly been awhile. I'm really sorry about that. I'm hoping that you'll forgive me and continue to enjoy my story. Also in my rush to get this posted, this is un-betaed. All mistakes are my own.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

When I'm branded, this mark of shame,

Should I look down disgraced or straight ahead

And know that you must blame?

'The Thorn Within' by Metallica

Chapter Twelve

The woman, who couldn't quite be _called_ a woman sat quietly in the small apartment—Dean always managed to gain entrance to his conquest's homes never visa versa—watching the two young lovers and strangers carefully. The girl was admittedly beautiful but held no real interest for her other than Dean's first _real_ conquest. She supposed she'd have to remember the blonde just for that. _Dean,_ she thought with a mixture of both fondness and hate, _you'll remember her too. I promise you._ She smiled briefly and eyed the young man. He was perhaps her greatest success and the worst mistake of her very long life combined. She still hadn't fully decided if it wouldn't have just been easier to kill the young hunter. It would certainly relieve many of her kind to know that the oftentimes insufferable Dean Winchester no longer walked this earth.

She admittedly hadn't had the slightest idea of his real identity when she had first laid eyes on him. She wasn't so foolish or careless in her games that she'd ever really had to worry about hunters and surely she didn't need to recognize them on sight, but she was very aware of who and what he was now. More so than anyone save the man himself, perhaps. But no, she hadn't known him then. He had been just another pretty face in the crowd, his green eyes dancing with mischief and lust, another worthy conquest added to the thousands deemed worthy to share her bed. Oh yes, she had standards. Many others of her kind would just fuck anyone and everyone who seemed the slightest bit wiling. She was disgusted by them. Clearly an example had to be set.

There was a time when all an incubus or succubus had to do was to make their presence known and the eager men and women would come in droves, their eyes bright with desire, their minds curious to know the pleasures such a being could grant them. She and her brothers and sisters had lived like gods, never wanting for anything. But that was before. Before Religion had come with its lofty morals of how anything remotely sexual was considered evil and damming. The eager subjects stopped seeking them out, leaving hunters and murderers to take their place. Her kind was no longer deemed gods but _things_; things that had to be put down like dogs. They no longer brought pleasure and desire but pain and death and damnation. She scowled just thinking about it, barely stopping herself from growling low and alerting the couple to her presence. Of course that wasn't to say that she and her kind were completely _innocent_ either. She had killed, willingly, and would kill again. She killed for sport, for pleasure, for fun, but never _ever_ for the attention of it. She never killed just to become notorious, to thumb her nose at police and hunters alike just for a laugh. That was how you got yourself hunted and she had lived a very, very long time and had every intention of continuing to do so.

That being said, it probably hadn't been the wisest decision she'd ever made to accept Dean's offer of a drink and more that night but damnit, she hadn't known! Of course, if she _had_ known, she probably who have been even _more_ interested in him. She sighed before scowling again at herself and the man before her. The man she should have killed. The man she should _still_ kill.

She wouldn't though. No, death was far too kind a solution for the likes of Dean Winchester. She had seen men like him come and go through the centuries, men who saw women as nothing more than objects of desire. Mya, for even demons had names, didn't mind however. Such men were ultimately useful to creatures like her. They were so willing and eager for a hot piece of ass in their beds that they never realized that _they_ were being preyed upon. Hunters however, they were different. Mya had never slept with one before in the fear that they would see her for her true self and kill her for it. But she had wanted Dean. She had wanted to swallow whole the confidence and cockiness that seemed to ooze from his every pore. And she always got what she wanted.

She should have noticed that he was a hunter from the start. Thinking back on it, she shook her head at her own naivety. She was old enough to know better and definitely old enough to control herself when it came to men, but there was just something about Dean. Something that had drawn her to him. His arrogance, perhaps. She couldn't remember how many times she had taken pleasure in cutting the most arrogant of men down to size and Dean would have been no exception. Had he been a normal man, that is.

She had known him for his true self as soon as they had gotten to her apartment. He had a few too many scars to be explained and wary caution that he should have been listening to that night. Although it could be said that she should have ended things for him. But she broke her rules, too tempted by the thrill of what he was to turn him away. Why she hadn't killed him was a harder question to answer.

She settled back in her seat, spreading her thighs wide so that the fabric of her black pinstripe skirt stretched over her legs, revealing the tops of her stockings. It was a pose designed to provoke, and that's exactly what she intended. "She's dead, you know." Her voice was like a gunshot in the small room and she couldn't help a smug grin as Dean startled and pushed himself against the headboard of the bed. "You've killed her."

Dean opened his mouth to speak—a demand concerning her identity no doubt—but morbid curiosity got the better of him and he reached out to touch the blonde's neck, feeling for a pulse.

"What, don't you believe me? Come now. You knew this would happen. You knew that you'd have to kill _someone_ tonight. Well congratulations. You have."

"Who the hell are you?" Dean asked, keeping back against the wall. He couldn't think about the dead girl at his side now. Not when he was naked and unarmed and face to face with a mystery woman who clearly held all the cards.

"You don't…you don't remember me?" Something in the woman's voice had Dean tensing to make a run for it, naked or not.

"You ungrateful piece of shit," the woman seethed, rising up out of her chair to move closer. "I ought to cut your prick off! How dare you forget me!" Before Dean could respond, he was being lifted up off of the bed, one of the woman's hands clenched tight around his throat.

"So I guess this means you're a demon?" Dean managed to croak out. His hands went to hers but she wasn't budging. She also wasn't strangling him to death so he didn't consider it a total loss. "So are you going to kiss me or kill me?"

"What?"

"You're a demon and that's what demons do. They either try to kiss me or they try to kill me. God, I hope it's the former," he murmured, his voice harsh as she held his throat.

She laughed but didn't loosen her grip around his throat. "You're one to talk, Dean Winchester."

"How do you know my name?"

"You'd better be messing with me, Dean," Mya growled, tightening her grip ever so slightly around his throat. "Do I have to fucking spell it out for you? I'm a demon, I know that you're a demon. Oh and this isn't the first time that I've seen you naked." Her eyes moved over him appreciatively.

"You—" Dean gasped, his voice lost. She loosened her grip enough for him to speak. "You did this to me. You turned me into a demon."

"It took you long enough. I really don't see what the big deal is about you Winchester. I mean sure, darling Sammy has protection from on high and all, but you? You're really not too quick, are you?"

"Don't you talk about my brother," Dean growled, his eyes growing cold. "You stay away from him, bitch." He earned a hard slap across the face for his language.

"Naughty, Dean. I don't like being told what to do," Mya tsked with a shake of her head. "I could have killed you that night but I didn't. Don't force me to rethink that decision."

Dean's ears were ringing and his vision was pretty much fucked for the moment, but something in her words got through. "You were in Cheyenne."

"Oh, so you _do_ remember. Glad to see I made an impression," she muttered wryly. "Of course, I did more than just that."

"What did you do to me? Why didn't you just kill me? You're a succubus, right? Isn't that what you do?"

"There you go, giving into stereotypes," Mya admonished lightly. "Of course, you're mostly right. I do kill people. I take great pleasure in finding men just like you: men who see women as nothing more than objects to be used. And objects don't have names. Do you even remember their names, Dean? I bet you don't. Tell me mine and I'll let you go. Scout's honor. Tell me my name and I'll let you free to do whatever the hell you want, Dean. Go on. I'm all ears."

Dean hesitated, thinking hard. He didn't really believe that this demon would keep her promise to let him go, but he didn't want to prove her right either. He may sleep with a lot of women but he worked very hard to remember them all. It was his way of rationalizing his actions to himself and he accepted that. "Mya. Your name is Mya." He remembered seeing her in that bar, beautiful and deadly, a siren leading him astray. "You killed those women, didn't you?"

"Very good, Dean. I'm impressed. And of course I killed them. You couldn't be bothered to finish the job so I did it for you. I turned you. I made you an incubus. That makes you my responsibility. For awhile at least."

"Undo it. Change me back and I'll let you go."

"Oh Dean. Sweet, clueless, Dean." She took his chin in her free hand. "There is no changing back. Not now. Not after her." She directed his gaze to the dead blonde he'd been trying so hard to ignore. "You killed her, Dean. Not me. You knew that you were going to kill her and you did it anyway. You gave in."

"You're lying."

"You know I'm not. Why would I lie when telling the truth is so much more fun?" Dean tried to jerk his chin away from her touch but was held fast. "What? Don't you want to be touched? I remember you practically begging for it that night. Poor forgotten Dean, longing for attention. Well I gave it to you. I gave you everything."

"You made me a demon," Dean spat with disgust. "Why?"

"Because it was fun." Mya smirked and slapped Dean's cheek lightly before dropping her free hand to her chest, drawing Dean's eyes to the swell of her breast against the fabric of her suit coat. She snorted and shook her head when she caught Dean looking. "Because you men are all the same. You use women for nothing more than your own pleasure and forget about them afterwards. How many women have you slept with, Dean? Do you even know? Do you want to know how many of your bastards populate this place? I could probably tell you."

"Moral lessons from a _succubus. _Golly I'm honored," Dean drawled, earning himself another slap.

"Naughty, Dean. If you think you're going to provoke me into killing you you're very wrong. Not when playing with you," she reached a hand around Dean's back to stroke her mark "is so much more fun."

Dean gasped at her touch, quickly growing aroused again despite everything. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he managed breathily.

"I marked what's mine." She smirked. "And added a little extra on top. You like that, don't you? You like when I touch you there." She demonstrated and Dean choked out a moan. "I could have a blade between your ribs and you'd still be longing for that touch. Call it a gift."

_Focus, Dean. Now is so not the time for this. She did this to you. She needs to—_

"You're not paying attention to me, Dean," Mya sing-songed, drawing a fingernail across the mark on Dean's back. Dean whimpered and she eased up. He was no good to her if his mind was gone with lust.

"You're not saying anything I want to hear, bitch," Dean growled, trying to slow the racing of his blood and the shortness of his breath. "Tell me how to undo it."

Mya frowned at Dean's curse but didn't slap him again. Yet. "I already told you. There's no undoing it. Not now. Not after her." She nodded to the blonde corpse. "You might have stopped the change; you might have tracked me down and forced me to undo it. But you've lost now, Dean. You gave in to your true nature. You killed. And by doing that you made the change permanent." She leaned in to whisper in Dean's ear, her breath hot on his cheek. "You're one of us now, baby."

"No. I don't believe it. I won't. You're just saying that to fuck with me."

Mya rolled her eyes. "Are you always this thick? I don't know how Sam even puts up with you."

"Don't say his name. You don't get to say his name," Dean hissed. "You talk to me. You leave him out of it."

"As if I'd be stupid enough go after your precious little brother. Besides, someone has a prior claim," Mya said with a one shouldered shrug.

Before Dean could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, his attention went to the tinny rock music that filled the room as his phone rang.

One minute Dean was watching his captor's every move, the next she was gone.

Leaving Dean alone.

Knowing that he would kill again.

Soon.

WWW

"He's still not answering," Sam explained with a frown as Bobby stood nearby. They had made it to Lawrence without incident but Sam hadn't been able to get in touch with his errant brother despite numerous tries. "He doesn't have it turned off, he's just not answering."

"Dean knows how to take care of himself, Sam. Especially now." Bobby's words weren't exactly reassuring, but Sam took them to heart anyway. There wasn't much more he could do. "Don't be getting any ideas, Sam. We're here and we're doing this."

Sam frowned, wondering if Bobby had turned psychic as well or if Sam was just that predictable. "I'm not going to go after him yet. I'm just worried. Especially after that vision. Something's after him, Bobby."

"It's those visions that brought us here in the first place, Sam," Bobby gently reminded him. "You're no good to Dean until you get this figured out."

Sam sighed and nodded, accepting that this had to be done for Dean's sake if not his own. Bobby had had a lot of miles during which to make his case. He just couldn't bring himself to take a step toward the house. He hadn't seen Missouri since…since Mom and he didn't know if she'd even be able to help. But the psychic was all they had.

"Are you two just going to stand out there talking or are you going to actually come inside?" A familiar voice rang out from the doorway of the house. It seemed Missouri, not surprisingly, had known they were coming. She turned and walked back into the house without a second glance.

Sam frowned, doubt filling him that the familiar psychic wouldn't be able to help but followed her anyway. If he was going to save Dean, he had no other choice.

TBC

A/N: A bit shorter than my usual chapters but I figure that after such a very, very long wait you loyal, wonderful people would appreciate this now. Look for the new chapter next Wednesday. I'm going to try for a weekly chapter update now that the series is premiering again. Don't forget to watch it this Thursday!


	14. Chapter 13

The Thorn Within

A Supernatural fanfiction by Merrie

Disclaimer: How I _wish_ the lovely Winchester boys belonged to me! But alas, they belong to Eric Kripke and all associated.

Summary: Dean's an incubus, Sam's forced to have crushing visions of his brother's exploits and something seems to be hunting both of them. Life is clearly not all fun and games for the brothers Winchester, but then again, when is it ever?

Author's Note: Remember that this in an AU second series fic that takes place after 'Children Shouldn't….' There have been no deals, no revelations about Yellow Eyes, none of that.

Rating: M for violence, naughty language and sexual content.

How can I be lost?  
In remembrance I relive.  
So how can I blame you  
When it's me I can't forgive?

'The Unforgiven III' by Metallica

Chapter Thirteen

"I'm sorry about your father, Sam," Missouri said before anything else. "I'm also sorry that I have to offer condolences again but I suppose that's the way of things." She gave Sam a sympathetic smile and held gestured for the two men to take a seat on the couch.

Sam frowned and gave a little one-shouldered shrug. "Thanks. And don't worry about it. Not your fault." He wasn't here to talk about Dad. He didn't want to think about Dad. Not now, not when he had so much other shit to deal with.

"But you're not here to talk about him. This is about Dean," Missouri stated calmly before turning to Bobby. "I hope you're not planning on keeping that hat of yours on while you're in my house, Bobby Singer."

Clearly Bobby had been but removed the ever-present cap and did his best to smooth back unruly hair while Missouri watched. "Yes ma'am."

Missouri nodded in response and turned back to Sam. "I know something has happened to Dean. I can feel that much just by looking at you. But what that something is---oh mercy. He's a _what_?" She raised her eyes to the ceiling as if appealing for patience. "Trouble does seem to find that boy wherever he goes but I have to say I didn't see this coming." She slumped back a little in the deep couch in disbelief.

Sam winced. "Yeah. That pretty much sums it up." He looked to Bobby for reassurance before turning his gaze to the psychic. "But that's not why I'm here. I mean, if you have any insight on how to fix Dean's…problem then I'll be happy to hear it. But it's worse than that." Missouri didn't interrupt, didn't ask what could possibly be worse than Dean becoming an incubus, she simply listened. "I have visions. Every time I touch Dean when he's…not himself, I have these horrible visions."

"Of what he might do," Missouri stated. "Or what he _wants_ to do."

"Yeah," Sam said, running a hand through his hair in hesitation and embarrassment of Dean's new "needs." "Only I can't control what I'm seeing. I can't push it away like the…" he glanced at Bobby, "other visions. I wind up unconscious and hurting like someone kicked me in the head."

"I see," Missouri said with a nod. "Well it's easy enough to see what's causing them, Sam."

"It is?" Sam asked incredulously. Clearly, he'd missed something important.

"Of course. He's your brother. Simple as that. You're tuned into him, his moods and thoughts more so than anyone else on this Earth. You're on the same wavelength, so to speak. And now that he's an…incubus," she shook her head at the word as if still disbelieving it, "you're attuned to him even more. Any psychic would be."

"Are you telling me that all the psychics in the area are going to be able to sense Dean coming now?" Sam asked with a worried frown. That would make staying under the radar tricky. Hell, who was he kidding? Dean's very nature would make staying out of sight, out of mind more difficult.

"Perhaps," she said with a slight nod. "If they're looking for him. Or something like him. They might sense something or someone different nearby but it'll be vague." She shrugged. "It also depends on the strength of the psychic."

"So how does he stop it? The visions, I mean," Bobby put in.

Missouri looked to Sam with sympathy. "I don't have an easy answer for you, Sam."

Sam sighed and nodded. He hadn't really expected one. Not with Winchester luck.

"It's not that there isn't a solution, there's just not an easy one," Missouri added. "You're going to have to learn to control them yourself." She frowned in thought. "It's like teaching yourself to realize when you're dreaming. You have to take control of the visions. You can't let them control you." She laughed. "I know it sounds like a lot of mythical mumbo jumbo from the crazy psychic but it's the truth."

Sam laughed in spite of himself. "It doesn't sound like that. It sounds like something I don't want to hear—"

"But need to," Missouri finished for him. "Your brother tried to call you just now by the way."

Sam blinked. "What?"

Missouri shrugged with a smile. "Psychic, remember?"

"Well check your phone, son," Bobby hastened him.

Sam hurried to pull his phone out of his jacket pocket and saw that the psychic was right. He put the phone to his ear and listened to Dean's message.

"_Hey bitch. I hope you're alright. I'm fine. Don't come looking for me. It's safer this way."_

"Damnit, Dean," Sam growled as he hung up the phone.

"That boy has a good heart but not a lick of sense," Missouri agreed. "He's in Utah, Sam. Go find him."

Sam intended to do just that. And to beat the every living hell out of his stupid older brother once he found him.

WWW

In the end it wasn't that hard to track Dean down. Not when he could spot the Impala on sight and he had a psychic on his side. But even if he hadn't had Missouri's help, even if he hadn't had her guiding him every step of the way Sam would have been able to guess where his older brother would hide out.

The motel was no different than the hundreds they had used in the past, unremarkable and ordinary enough that it's occupants wouldn't be anything but unremarkable and ordinary themselves. It was the anonymity that Dean would seek now. That much Sam knew. It didn't matter how much his brother had changed or what he had changed in to, home was a place apart. A place you could be safe and not worry about someone coming after you.

The fact that that was exactly what Sam was doing wasn't lost on him. He wasn't coming to hurt Dean, however. Well, not intentionally. He was hoping that he wouldn't have to make that choice, that Dean would be his brother and not the incubus he had become. Sam sighed. He knew it was foolish to hope, knew that the real world didn't work like that, but he couldn't bring himself to think the worst of Dean. Not now, not ever.

Shaking himself out of such thoughts, Sam pressed on. He hadn't asked Missouri which room was Dean's and as it turned out, he wouldn't need to. The Impala was parked practically on the doorstep of room 102, the parking job sloppy enough to make Sam's mouth draw down in worry. It was clear Dean had been in a hurry but even at his most frantic Sam's older brother would always take time to park his precious car properly. Even if it meant a vicious spin of the wheel and the squeal of tire upon pavement. This poor job had none of those signs. Sam's worry deepened as he leaned over and saw keys still dangling from the ignition like portents of doom.

The door to Dean's room was locked but that didn't slow Sam down. He had no idea just how many locks he had picked over the years but this wasn't the first and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "Dean?" he called out softly, not wanting to startle his brother. He had absolutely no idea what sort of state Dean would be in right now and he didn't want to risk anything. "Dean? Are you here?" Sam called out again as he squinted in the darkness of the room. The lights were all off and the curtains were closed. Groping the wall for a light switch, Sam flipped it on and saw his brother.

"You shouldn't have come, Sammy. You should have left me alone," Dean muttered from his position on the floor. He didn't bother looking up. He knew it was Sam. Knew it was him as soon as he heard the unfamiliar car in the lot, knew it was him when he heard the telltale sound of the lock being picked.

"What the hell, Dean? Who did this to you?" Sam cried out as he ran to Dean's side, taking in the handcuffs and bloodied wrists. Dean was sitting next to the radiator not for the warmth but because he was handcuffed to it.

"Don't, Sam. Just go. Please," Dean pleaded, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid Sam's searching fingers. "It's not safe."

"You did this. You locked yourself in here." He rose to his feet and stood looking down at his brother. "Are you going to tell me why or am I going to have to guess?"

Dean shifted uneasily under Sam's harsh gaze. "I didn't want to hurt anyone else. It's safer this way. I can't control it, Sammy. I tried." As if to emphasize this, he gave the cuffs a sudden jerk. They didn't budge.

"Stop that, you jerk. You're only hurting yourself," Sam said with a frown, seeing the blood dripping down from Dean's raw and bloody wrists. "Have you been here long?"

Dean lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "A few hours."

"And how long can you last without sex? Without feeding?"

Dean blinked at the blunt question from his brother's lips. "I don't know. I guess I'll find out."

Sam sighed and took a cross-legged seat on the carpet near Dean. "It seems to me that while I have your attention we're going to talk. No buts, Dean. You're a prisoner and that means you're going to listen."

"Fine," Dean muttered. "Where's Bobby?"

"I borrowed his car because some ass drove off without me so he's back at Missouri's. Now shut up." Sam got comfortable. He had a feeling that they would be here awhile. "Explain it to me. Explain how it works. If we have to deal with this thing until we find the cure then I need to know. So explain it to me."

Dean didn't bother asking what Sam was talking about. He knew. "It's not easy to explain." At Sam's frown he spoke quickly, "I'm not stalling, it just is. It's more than want, more than need. It's like an addiction, Sammy. It's like a horrible addiction to something that's killing you as you take it but that will surely kill you if you don't."

"Is it like the need for food or sleep?" Sam asked, taking all of this in.

Dean shook his head. "It's more than that. Much more."

"And what happens if you don't get it?"

"I haven't quite gotten that far yet but I'm sure it sure as hell won't be pretty," Dean muttered. He gave a short cynical laugh and gestured at his wrists with his chin. "They hurt like hell but that doesn't stop me from pulling on them. I want free and I think I'd do about anything to get there."

"Does the…need get worse the longer you wait?"

"Oh yeah," Dean whispered.

"Does it have to be sex or can it be something else? Like…does it have to be the act itself or can it just be intent? Can you feed off of lust?"

"I don't know. I haven't exactly been in the right frame of mind to experiment, Sammy," Dean said with a shake of his head.

Sam nodded. "Fair enough." He rose to his feet again. "Then we're just going to have to find out for ourselves. Where'd you throw the keys?"

"What? No, Sammy. Don't be stupid. I'm not going anywhere. I won't…I'm not going to hurt anyone else." Dean argued.

"Then what the hell _are_ you going to do, Dean? Just sit here handcuffed to the radiator until you either shrivel up and die or rip your own arm off?"

"I…I don't know, Sammy. But I can't control it. Don't you understand that? I could go after you for all you know."

"I'm way out of your league," Sam said dryly. "We're going to fix this thing, Dean. I swear it. But for now we have to deal with it. But I won't let you hurt anyone."

_Too late, Sammy. Too late. There's no cure. No salvation. _Dean wanted to say as much, wanted to tell his brother the truth about he girl he had killed, about Mya, but he couldn't force his lips to say the words. Not when freedom was in the offering.

"Oh and I had a vision of the person who might have done this to you. I think her name was Mya. Definite bitch."

Dean's eyes widened in shock. He hadn't wanted Sam to know about her. "What did you see?"

Sam frowned. "It was pretty vague but she was clearly after you. I think another woman might have been there but I can't be sure. These things don't exactly come with a manual, you know."

"I know," Dean said with a sigh. "Still, it's something. Mya, huh?"

"Yeah. That name mean anything to you?" Sam asked, pulling out his lock picks once more. If Dean wasn't going to come clean about where the key was then he'd have to make do without.

"Don't think so," Dean lied. "Of course if I remembered pissing off someone or something that could have done this to me I would have mentioned it by now."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Gotcha!" he cried in triumph as he freed Dean's right wrist and hauled his brother up to his feet, the other cuff still dangling on Dean's left.

Dean barely had time to rub some circulation back into his aching right hand before he heard the click of a cuff being closed. "You didn't think I was going to let you run off by yourself again, did you?" Sam asked dryly. Dean looked down and saw that his brother had closed the open cuff around his own right wrist, thereby cuffing them together.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Give me that pick," Dean growled in anger at his brother's utter stupidity. Who handcuffs themselves to a starving incubus, honestly?

"No," Sam said sternly. "We're in this together, remember? We're going to figure this out. That and I don't trust you as far I can throw you."

Dean snorted. "If you tried that now you'd end up sending us both across the room."

"Exactly," Sam agreed with a sunny smile.

"This is a very, _very_ bad plan, bitch," Dean muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips to match his brother's infectious grin.

"Probably. I just asked myself, 'what would Dean do?' and this is what I came up with. You have only yourself to blame," Sam said solemnly.

"Shut up. So what now, oh fearless leader?"

"Now we figure out how this incubus thing of yours works."

"Or die trying."

"Drama queen."

TBC

A/N: I'm alive! I'm now married, taking classes full time to finish my degree and working but I'm alive! And writing! See you next time. : )


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